


The Devil Was An Angel Too

by ProwlingThunder



Series: Boys In Blue [6]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blowjobs, First Time, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, M/M, Magic Kisses, Military, Nightmares, No Spoilers, Pre-Vault, Quinn Ruins all the Pants, Quinn Ruins all the Plans, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue, Sexual Content, Silas is Violent, Soldier Boys, Two Survivors AU, Violence, War, handjobs, lovemaking, m/m - Freeform, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silas had a lot of plans for how to deal with Private Quinn. Then Carslile forced his hand, and all those plans went up in smoke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Was An Angel Too

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Quinn: A Dance With the Devil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297631) by [EgoDominusTuus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/pseuds/EgoDominusTuus). 



By the time Silas retired from the military, he decided, he was going to have so many weekend passes accrued, he’d be able to take a month and a half right off the end with no fuss. Probably. The military could get stingy like that, but if he never used his leave time, they took note of it, marked it down in a little black book.. and probably shredded it, hoping he forgot he had time built up. The only person who could verify that it happened would be the person who was allowed to shred the book, of course, and he was definitely not that person.

..but it wasn’t like he had anywhere he wanted to go. His father was an officer deployed somewhere in _you don’t need to know_ , and he was sure he wouldn’t manage to get ahold of him for another month or so. They would probably come fetch him from wherever he was training when the call came in, and the base commander would grumble and posture and generally make life difficult for him. Silas had resolved never to tell his father about the man’s attitude; probably safer for everybody, that way.

But most of the people had fled the base for the weekend. It freed up courses, tracks and equipment for his own use, and doubled as a way to burn away his thoughts and let the commander know precisely where he was. _We lost track of you for three hours, what were you doing?_

Never again. He had never had any real notion of privacy in his life, but his off-duty hours were his own business as long as he did not leave the base. He had no real need to, of course; there was a tiny little officer’s cantina, where he could buy a bottle of whiskey or two when he felt the desire, and plenty of supplies he could get his hands on. It was hardly like he needed to stash food in his quarters when the mess was a perfectly acceptable alternative, no matter how many people were inviting him down to little diners in town.

...at least they’d stopped trying to hook him up with dames when they’d found a picture of his mom in his wallet. Girls were nice and all-- no, really, he _liked_ girls-- but he liked people better when they were a little rougher around the edges. The only girl he’d ever dated though had been Sally, back when he was like.. five. He was pretty sure she’d knocked out one of his teeth.

He hadn’t dated anyone else until Toby, and he hadn’t even _looked_ at anyone until he had ended up here, where everyone was a little rough and tumble and one ~~dumb hot foolish~~ green recruit had gotten himself in hot water. The whole base was lucky that half Carslile’s clique hadn’t made it into the military at all. Why didn’t really matter to Silas, just that they hadn’t come, but the ones that had were the dumbest and most loyal of the lot, so…

 _Then again, he is_ really _hot when he makes them run around in circles,_ Silas thought, refusing to apply the logic too hard where he ran on the roadway. Looping the barracks and buildings was almost a good substitute for the race track back at school, except instead of predesignated obstacles, he got to try really hard not to give into the urge to slide over the hood of the base commander’s shiny black car.

Man probably had a motion sensor on it. The idea of getting booted out of service _for any reason_ was a pretty good deterrent to teenage shenanigans. Really.

He spared the car the briefest of looks as he passed it, but the urge was quiet and vague. Like a glitched holotape, his mind had been skipping back to the night two months ago when Private Quinn had shown up at his door and ended up in his bed.

It hadn’t been the best of circumstances. Quinn had been injured-- _doorknobs_ , he snorted, _yeah right_ \-- and more than a little bit buzzed. Silas hadn’t been what he would call sober either, even with only a handful of shots in him, but at least he was vaguely sure he hadn’t been quite as far gone. Quinn had been asleep pretty quick once he’d tucked him under the covers. He’d managed to wake up before inspection, which was a win, but still…

Still, letting him stay in his room had been a risk. Fraternization with another soldier, even if there hadn’t _been_ any fraternization-- and there had, oh boy, had there been, he wanted to steal away some kisses every time he saw him, Quinn had been a _good_ kisser-- would have been plenty of cause to the base commander. He rather liked his position; the moment deployment stateside came up, he was supposed to be on the top of the list come graduation. If he managed to _survive_ till graduation, with the commander eyeing his every move.

But something was going to have to give, and soon. He had been trying to put distance between them where he could, but for the most part living on base and working with him thwarted that plan. Silas wasn’t entirely sure Quinn wasn’t deliberately seeking him out and being too damned kissable for his own good, and they were both pretty invested in causing Carslile trouble. Base showers came in cold and frozen-- hot water was a rarity people used up pretty quick-- and at this point he may as well just move in. Wasn’t like kissing was the only thing he wanted to do here.

It was a risk, and a dangerous one. Silas was an officer, to boot. Trying to figure out a way to sneak around _and_ initiate without it seeming in any vague way like an order was… difficult and unpleasant, and he really, really shouldn’t have kissed him, no matter how good an idea it was at the time or how much he had wanted it.

How much he wanted to do it again.

 _I am in so much trouble_ . He knew the fine, gossamer line between want and _want_ . He didn’t want people just because they were there, or they were attractive. He wanted them because he _wanted_ them, and it was.. He wasn’t sure. Things like this, he wasn’t sure of at all. They existed, and there were no defining words to them, for them.

He wanted Quinn, more than just _kind of_ . He wondered if it had happened the moment the man stepped off the bus, or if it had started somewhere there at the fight. Or one of the later fights. Or that night in his quarters. Not that it mattered when or where, anyway. There were dozens of reasons to keep a handle on his wants and desires, stuff them in a little box never to be spoken of again. A couple of those reasons were that he did _really_ like being in the military…

 _He probably isn’t looking for anything serious anyway.._ which was why Quinn was following him around like a lost puppy, sure, Silas wasn’t blind. _Or he could be, I guess…_

He didn’t know which option he liked less. If Quinn was serious… well. His father had told him he fell in love easy, and fell hard. He and Sally had only ‘dated’ for like, three weeks before her family had changed bases with her dad’s posting, but apparently he had taken it hard. And his father had _known_ when he and Toby had broken up, without Silas ever having to say a word. Not being able to be _with Quinn_ would be a damned tragedy.

If Quinn wasn’t serious, Silas could be walking into an entirely different world of hurt and danger. Not to mention the black mark of dishonorable discharge, like a plague hanging over his family tree. It’d put his grandfathers in their graves, for sure.

The smartest thing to do would be to stop hanging out with him. If it didn’t work, request a change of posting.. There were other bases he could get into to finish up. He’d requested this one because his was where his dad and granddad had gone, but it wasn’t the only one in the world. He was sure they’d forgive him if he had to shift gears to one that poured out stronger soldiers like water.

That was a lie. No other base produced stronger soldiers. _Dad_ had come out of here.

So the smartest thing to do was, of course, not going to happen. Plan B wasn’t exactly much better.

He turned the next block in his path, making his way past the barracks in the direction of the gym. At this hour on leave, it’d be empty of people, and probably stay that way for a good long while. Nobody’d be there to complain about taking a dip in his smallclothes. Or his skivvies.

Or jumping in fully clothed, which was a _possibility_ but also not recommended. Having wet boots sucked. Drying them out sucked more, because it took time and attention he didn’t really have to spare. They’d be wet for days. They almost took longer to dry than his uniform boots.

The lights were on in the gym. He frowned at it and shifted his course to pass it by instead of climbing the steps, not quite really interested in the odds someone would walk into the pool with him there. He had friends here, he guessed, but nobody he actually trusted not to turn him in would still be on base when _going to visit family_ was an option. It looked like even Quinn had gone home earlier, so his weekend should be entirely Quinn-free while he figured out what he was going to do with his.. issues. He had to do _something_.

A couple of guys were tucked under the overhang, sharing a pack of fags and a lighter between them. He couldn’t recognize them from here-- everybody knew the outside bulb had blown last week and they were waiting for one to get shipped in-- but it didn’t really matter. If they were on base then they were soldiers who hadn’t gone home, and witnesses, besides. All it meant was that he wasn’t going to go swimming. He made his way past the steps and--

“So how much fight you think King’s boytoy is going to give the boss?”

_Wait._

“Fuck, James, don’t say that asshole’s name. We don’t want to summon him here.”

Silas stopped running and turned his blue eyes at the pair. They didn’t appear to notice him; they were looking away, and it was entirely possible they hadn’t heard him run up, embroiled in conversation. He wondered how many cigarettes they’d had; he could smell the menthol from here.

“That’s a load of superstition, Butch, don’t tell me you believe that shit.”

_King’s boytoy…?_

“Now listen, my mamma says--”

There was no one and nothing that fit the description. The one person he wanted was the one he wasn’t supposed to have, which was the way it had always been. The world was picky that way.

Still, he knew them. He’d _grown up with them_ , much to his misfortune. And where these two were, their ‘boss’ wasn’t far away.

His gaze flicked to the dead bulb in the overhang, his brain clicking. Gyms were the antithesis for Carslile, he wasn’t going to be _in one--_

“Your momma can’t say shit around all the cock she sucks. We know that, don’t try to shine her up.”

Fuck. He _wouldn’t_.

“Shut your mouth, man, she’s still my mamma.”

Now that they’d got the dick-measuring contest over with, they turned to dump their ashes and saw that Silas was climbing the stairs. He crooked them a grin, showing all his teeth.  Even in the dark, he could see that Butch turned white as a sheet at the sight of him. James had been in the middle of lighting another smoke; he dropped his lighter and it clattered on the walk, metal against stone, the fire guttering out.

“Fuck, it’s you. King. Listen man-- this ain’t what it looks like--”

“Butch, shut the fuck up--”

“King--”

“You two,” Silas cut him off, unimpressed and shaking. He could feel adrenaline coursing through his veins already, liquid courage and energy born from the unfathomable anger pooling in his chest. He _wouldn’t_ . Except he probably would, and Silas was going to force-feed him his own _testicles_ . “Have one chance to get out of here without a body-cast. _Where are Carslile and Quinn._ ”

James seemed to shake himself out of his surprise at seeing Silas here, probably out of disgust for Butch’s abject fear. He was smart enough not to go after his lighter, which was a shame, because kneecaps made the very best nose-breaking tools ever. He sneered at him, lips twisted into a cruel, sardonic smile. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do now, King,” and Silas felt his smile sharpen back, because James had _no idea_ who he was talking to. “The boss is probably already done rearranging his pretty face for you… but I bet he’ll feel really good sucking you off with no _teeth_.”

A school career of fighting had taught Silas the best way to throw a punch for maximum damage. He stepped forward into James’ space and brought up his strong arm in the same movement, knuckles cracking against the upper jaw. The other man staggered back, dropping his cig as he gasped in pain. It had been a long time since he’d had to let his fists do the talking here, especially against Carslile’s brood, and James clearly hadn’t been expecting it.

It was so damned _satisfying_ to hear his teeth clack.

“Fuck man,” James’ voice was heady with pain but bubbling with laughter. “You hit like a dame. Maybe you’re the one getting buggered. Wouldn’t that be something? Silas King, catching--”

He hit him again to shut him up, a fist to the solar plexus to chase the oxygen from his lungs. James wheezed, doubling over, fingers grasping at his wrist. He stepped back and let him hit the concrete and turned to get answers out of Butch-- and narrowly avoided a mouthful of iron knuckles, because Butch apparently had grown a spine since school.

It wasn’t the answer Silas wanted to hear, them fighting back. Maybe they didn’t know, which was a possibility but also bullshit he didn’t believe.

He stuck out a foot to hook Butch’s ankle, letting the guy’s own momentum send him sprawling on the ground. He hit hard and slid a bit, and Silas scowled at them. They didn’t really do well on their own, Carslile and his friends; well, no, Carslile could hold his own in a fight, he was damned good at it, and he and Silas had come to blows more than once. Carslile surrounded himself with people who _couldn’t_ fight on their own, and dirty tactics and numbers were their saving grace.

They tried. They really did. But when their advantages disappeared and they were drug down to their bare basics, they had shit for teamwork. Even the army hadn’t managed to fix that yet.

He stepped forward and planted his heel between Butch’s shoulderblades, wishing suddenly for the uniform boots that came standard. They were heavier and had a more defined shape, a more angled edge to the sole. It would make a _point_ somewhat easier than those he’d already broken in. But he had what he had, and missing what he didn’t have was a waste of time. He bent down and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and bending Butch’s arm back. The metal looping his fingers glittered shiny and copper, and for a brief moment Silas considered breaking the fragile digits.

Butch whined a bit. Or maybe it was a groan.

Silas shifted his weight and pressed down harder on his back. He fumbled with the knuckles a moment, slipping them free and tucking them into his pocket. He could hear James start to get himself back together, and knew he was quickly running out of time. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Fuck…”

“That’s the wrong answer,” Silas apologized, shifting his grip a bit and pulling, moving to press his foot _there_ \--

Butch screamed. His arm snapped clean and-- it wasn’t enough, he wanted to break every bone he had right now, he wanted to make him _hurt_ , he wanted to make him suffer. He wanted his _answers_ , and he’d have them, but he didn’t have time to _wait_.

He dropped the arm and stepped over him, moving to collect the other wrist. Butch flinched away, mind-numbing agony coursing through his veins and his words both. “Pool! We tracked him to the pool!”

Silas dropped his wrist back to the ground. He thought maybe Butch was crying, and discarded the notion. Maybe he’d get washed out… but even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be swinging anything at anybody with that arm for a few weeks. “There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You _fucker_!” James lunged at him and Silas ducked, planting his shoulder in the other’s stomach. A shift of movement as he stood, and James went neatly over his shoulder altogether, landing on the step.

Still alive. Probably not even very injured. There wasn’t time to do more. The last time Carslile had someone he liked at the _pool_ , Toby had nearly drowned... “I suggest you be gone before I get back.” He made a point of stepping on James’ hand as he walked to the door, relishing in the yell of pain it wrenched from him.

It was petty and vindictive. He was _feeling_ petty and vindictive, and _angry_. Served them right for stoking that fire.

He stalked through the gym hall feeling like he was incandescent with rage, glowing, but apparently he wasn’t, because when he pushed the door to the pool open, no one seemed to notice. It took a moment for him to soak in what he was looking at, but at least he was lucky they were _right there_ , at the end of the pool maybe twenty feet in front of him.

It was Carslile-- that _asshole_ , Silas was going to _kill him_ \-- settled atop Quinn, bent over his back with one broad hand curled around the forearm stretched high above his head. A thin river of ruby traced the curve of his muscles and trickled down his side, pooling in the bare dip at the base of his spine.

Carslile’s clothes were rumpled, he was breathing heavily, and for a moment all Silas saw was gray, the world whiting out.  

He didn’t think anything. Cool fury blinded him to rational thought, crystallizing in a singular path beneath his feet. He moved without deciding it, without really seeing or hearing anything, and hooked himself two good fistfulls of Carslile’s shirt. He threw him at the wall, best as he could, because every inch of Carslile was muscle and he weighed a small ton.

He didn’t keep watching to see if he hit it or not, glancing down at Quinn, half-kneeling on instinct. His hand hovered uncertainly over his back, above the stark line that traced around his shoulder blade and down the meat of his back, kicking out in a little flare at the bottom, just before the curve of his ass. An out of place line of color on the cheek hinted the flat had been wiped clean, a bolder stain betwixt, and Silas couldn’t…

He wasn’t moving. He’d wasted his time with those assholes at the door, and now he was too late.

His fingers curled. He wanted… something. To scream and shout, maybe. He definitely wanted to _break_ Carslile… who was standing up next to the wall, looking back at him with smug satisfaction. He stood slowly, feeling tremors in his muscles as he tried to leash his sanity. Carslile had a good twenty pounds on him, and more strength behind his swings than Silas could manage as a result, throwing his whole weight behind them because he _could_ . He’d _always_ had to fight him smart.

“You’re late to the party, Silas,” his name off Carslile’s tongue felt like sandpaper down his back. His jaw tightened, teeth aching a bit at the pressure. “Broke your new toy, sorry about that. The little fucker had a hot mouth and a virgin-tight ass, though.”

Silas’ brain skittered a bit, caught off-guard. He drug his blue eyes away from the blood-soaked scene on Carslile’s face, cutting his way down his chest until he found the undone fly, the low-slung hips, and _all of him_ exposed. The anaconda usually stuffed down those damned pants was standing at attention, stained a wet sanguine and beading pre-cum, and it _twitched at him_.

Carslile chuckled. “Like what you see, you fag?”

Silas couldn’t answer. His blood had turned to ice in his veins, moving sluggishly through his system and pounding in his ears. He found it hard to think around the awareness of what had happened, what he’d subjected Quinn to in his absence. What his being late had caused.  
Why was he always late when people needed him the most?

“Cat got your tongue, huh? Or are you scared, just like your little bitch?” Carslile’s voice was dark, low and maybe a touch attempting to be sultry, and it grated over Silas’ awareness, chafing rough and angry. Carslile was trying to get a rile out of him; he didn’t have to, Silas was already furious with him. He was going to break him in half and leave him strewn about the room, begging for mercy. “I wouldn’t worry too hard about yourself. If you come over and make yourself useful, I might even let this one live.”

_What?_

Derailed, he shot his attention up to Carslile’s face, searching for the truth. Carslile watched him back, eyes dark with something Silas couldn’t articulate, even as he reached up to wipe scarlet away from his face with a sleeve. The standard issue combat knife glinted in his hand, an instrument of Quinn’s torture, the seam in the metal still hued red in the light. Quinn’s blood. The sight of it hardened his resolve.

He stood up. Stepped forward. Carslile _grinned_.

“...Sil..?”

 _Quinn_. The sound of his voice almost made Silas stop moving. It was hard to take that next step, to not look back at him. His voice was quiet, raspy and a little strangled. There was so much grief and panic in that one syllable alone. He tried not to think about how this looked from Quinn’s point of view, how bad it must have seemed. The idea that Silas might go and bend for Carslile had to be as painful as any knife.

He wouldn’t. It wouldn’t save Quinn. It wouldn’t save either of them, and he was a man with pride.

 _Hang on, Quinn, just a little longer.._ He stopped in front of Carslile, who was still _grinning at him_ . Like he had won. Like he was _victorious_ . Silas squared his jaw and Carslile reached up to snatch it, grip slick. Quinn’s blood. He _hoped_ it was Quinn’s blood. It had _better have been_.

He slipped one hand into his pocket and forced the other to uncurl, hoping Quinn wasn’t too far gone to miss the call-sign, or misunderstand it. He wanted to reassure him, but the situation forced him into a choke-point, and there wasn’t time to tell him. It was always when he needed to really make things clear that he couldn’t use his words, wasn’t it? It had been the same way with Dad.. But Carslile wasn’t watching his hands, and maybe Quinn was.

_Wait. More information._

Cool metal encircled his fingers. _Thank you for this one, Bruce._

“You always make the _best_ choices, you know? I’ll bet--”

This time, Silas was sure he’d knocked loose teeth. Knuckledusters were _good_ for removing teeth, as he understood it. Also it split the skin on Carslile’s cheek and the force had turned his head, providing Silas with the best view of the scarlet waterfall the house could get.

Bonus effect: Carslile’s grip slackened.

It wasn’t much, and it would only last for a heartbeat. But the heartbeat was all Silas needed to jerk his head free of his grip and dance backwards, even as Carslile came back swinging himself. The knife caught the sleeve of his tee, barely biting his skin, but the adrenaline in his blood refused to let him register it. It was there, but it did not hurt, and if he bled, he couldn’t tell. It was superficial and unimportant, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t littered in scars anyway.

He danced away from him for several paces, until he was sure Quinn was beyond the range of tripping or accidental injury otherwise; Carslile matched him, infuriated in his own right, but fire instead of ice. The same fire that had threatened to consume him moments earlier, until Carslile of all people had dunked it cold and _Quinn_ had _spoken_.

He’d hurt Quinn. He had touched something that didn’t belong to him, taken something he couldn’t give back. Silas would have been angry even if it hadn’t been Quinn, but it was, and that made it worse. Carslile had made this choice deliberately, specifically to drive the knife in deep and twist it. He had known, probably better than Silas had known, how much this would hurt him.

He ducked the other’s wild grab for his shoulder and slid beneath his arm, tagging him twice in the floating ribs before he had to dance away again, Carslile’s face a-twist with vestiges of pain. He wasn’t pulling his punches, and the knuckles had plenty of bite. But he had more stamina to spend then Silas did, after his run and the fight with his lackeys out front, and it was going to take a while to run him out of it..

He didn’t have that kind of time. Quinn was over there bleeding, and it could have been a lot worse than it looked earlier. Especially considering he’d thought.. that he’d thought…

He just didn’t have that kind of time. Beating Carslile at his own game wasn’t really an option on the table here. And a dagger against brass knuckles were odds he didn’t like; it had bit into his arms a couple times already, leaving droplets of his own blood on the tile, but all he was doing was leaving bruises behind. Silas had an advantage with agility, for the moment, and he had to use it while he could.

He dared to back up in the direction of the pool, leading Carslile with him. His dark eyes were narrowed on him, tunnel vision, and Silas gave him a devilish smile. “You never could take me in a fair fight, so you had to resort to tools to make it easier? I’m disappointed in you.” Something.. shifted in Carslile’s expression. Silas couldn’t pin it down exactly, not before it vanished in the wash of fresh anger.

In an abstract way, he wondered what he was thinking, what he made of what he was looking at, what he made of Silas and the situation. But mostly he didn’t, because Carslile was a bull in a china shop, and he could direct that momentum-- Carslile lurched forward, and Silas opened his palms, sliding sideways as he did. His opponent seemed to figure out what he was doing immediately, but it didn’t stop him from closing his fingers around his wrist and stepping out of the way, spinning him around.

He let him go, and physics kept him going. Carslile stumbled and tried to catch himself on air, one foot hitting the lip of the pool. He fell back, and Silas retreated when he went to try to catch his shirt and haul him with.

He didn’t have time to go swimming with Carslile. He didn’t have time to worry about Carslile, not yet. Later.

He sprinted back to Quinn’s side instead, skidding a bit, nearly slipping. Quinn watched him, looking exhausted and worn, his eyes haunted. Silas felt very small beneath his gaze, like he’d been judged and found wanting. It was an uncomfortable and unwelcome feeling.

“I’m here now,” he apologized, half reflexive but earnest regardless. He was late, he was never on time, he couldn’t ever seem to be on time-- it had nearly cost Quinn his life, all of this had, this had started the day he’d stepped up and intervened in his fight with Carslile and his gang, it had continued because he had _let it_ \-- “I’m here now, Quinn. I..” He hesitated to touch him without knowing how bad the damage was. Moving him might make it worse. “How.. Can you be moved? Do I need to fetch the doctors?”

He couldn’t do that with Carslile _in the fucking pool_. He didn’t know if Carslile could swim, but he’d get out of there eventually, come back like a bad habit. Silas needed that like he needed a bullet in the head.

Quinn didn’t respond immediately. Something wooden and too red lay in the corner against the wall, in the edges of Silas’ vision, and he knew where the rest of Carslile’s toolkit resided. The urge to fetch it and wait for Carslile to come near the edges was intense, but he swallowed it down and swept his gaze over Quinn’s back instead. The stripe of crimson was drying, clotting as well as it could. It was a long line.

In the pool, Carslile continued splashing. Silas was running out of time. He wanted distance and locked doors, his service weapon, and a medical kit, not necessarily in that order.

He would happily take the third and remove the need for the first two.

“Don’t need a medic,” Quinn managed at last. His lips were painted ruby, and Silas almost couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own pulse.

“Okay. I’m going to to roll you over and get you out of here.” It would hurt. He couldn’t imagine being hit with a bat, but judging by the pain on his face and the time it seemed to take for him to marshal enough strength to talk, Silas was betting it was pretty high on the scale. Moving him wouldn’t _not_ hurt. But pain was good. It meant he was still alive.

He rested one hand lightly, briefly, over the back of Quinn’s neck, then brought it to the correct shoulder. The other found his leg and he apologized again before rolling his body over so he rested on his back. There were superficial cuts here and there, and bruises were already forming in thick, bold lines. He winced. PT when leave ended was going to be hell for him, there was no way around that. At least he could tell the base commander he had gone for a run through the thicket; there was no ready-made substitute for _I got hit with a baseball bat while I was taking an evening swim_.

It took a moment to shift Quinn around so a bridal carry would protect as much of his dignity as possible, without letting his head or arms flop and make life otherwise uncomfortable. Still, when he was satisfied with the result, Silas scooped him up in his arms, letting the younger man rest his head against his shoulder. Standing was… slightly more difficult; in one of the passes, Carslile had tagged his thigh in a mostly intelligent attempt to hamstring him, and now the adrenaline was trying to ebb a bit, reminding him that he had been injured in the first place.

The walk to his quarters was blessedly short though, and devoid of people. Even James and Bruce had made themselves scarce, leaving their boss for the devil to find. Probably off to report the broken arm. Silas figured Quinn might back him if someone tried to call him as the culprit, but he couldn’t be sure. He hoped so.

Quinn spent the whole trip in silence. Maybe dozing. He couldn’t say. But he stirred a bit when Silas bumped the door closed with his heel, clicked the light, and crossed the short distance to the cot, laying him down on the mattress and it’s miraculous green sheets.

Everything in this base was Army green. Thank the great wonders of an old soldier for picking green. Blood was a bitch to get out of white, but green he could manage.

He turned away to find the whiskey and his medical kit. He needed some stitch-strips and a bit of gauze-tape, at least. His back was going to leave a beautiful red line on the bedding as it was, but his face.. Had Carslile planned to disfigure him, like James had hinted? It might end up being nothing, it might go away entirely, but the thought settled in his gut like a stone regardless.

Not that Quinn wouldn’t look good with scars, but… Not from this. Not like this. Not from fucking _Carslile_.

“..Sil..?”

He turned at once, fingers closing around the bottle of hooch as he moved. Quinn was watching him, trying to push himself up on the bed, rest himself on his elbows. Silas moved back to him immediately. “I’m here,” he promised. “I’ve got you.” He wished he had gotten there sooner. He wished he could have spared him from some of this. He didn’t know how he could have prevented it, except to have never stepped in that first time…

That hadn’t been an option. He tried not to dwell on it. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The whiskey’s gonna sting.”

Quinn made a sound that could have been a laugh, maybe. If it were a touch less sardonic. If it were happy _at all_. The sound of it raised his hackles. It didn’t much sound like the Quinn he’d been hanging out with these last few months. The urge to go strangle Carslile swirled in the back of his mind, a quiet siren. “You could always kiss it better.”

His eyes slid away from him, green orbs turning to the wall. Silas tightened his grip on the bottle, grateful for it’s strength. The thickness of the glass and the shape of the neck made it strong, durable. It wouldn’t break on him.

The last time Quinn had said those words, they were a little wry and a little hopeful, but full of heat. He had been in the one little lone chair, tucked at the equally small table, interrupting his nightcap with a busted lip and a bad case of barfight. There’d been fire in his gaze when he’d looked at him, scorching him, calling to him like a moth to a flame.

He’d kissed him, then. It had been an offer on the table, but risky. He’d been _so lucky_ that Quinn had kissed him back. He didn’t know if he could have shown his face the next day if he hadn’t.

It probably would have gone further than that. God knew he’d wanted it to. Even when rational thought had come back the next day, he had still kind of regretted that it had been cut short. He was hardly the sort to kiss on the first date, but Quinn had been sweeter than the whiskey, and he had been eager to find out if it was just his mouth.

He had smelled him on the pillow for days.

Quinn had smelled like the cologne Carslile _bathed_ in, carrying him back here.

Silas wanted to wipe it all away, again and again until Quinn smelled like _him_.

He wanted to march out the door and _castrate Carslile_.

“Do you trust me, Quinn?” he asked instead. It was a delicate question. He could bandage him up even if he didn’t trust him-- he _would_ bandage him up, regardless of the answer-- but the answer was _important_. He knelt by the bedside, settling the kit and whiskey next to him. Carslile’s blood was on his hands, he’d have to sanitize them first-- thank the Irish for whiskey. Whiskey everywhere.

Quinn still wasn’t looking at him. Silas’ heart twisted. Of course he wouldn’t, now. Not after Silas had failed to protect him. Not when he was always too late to do any real good.

He uncapped the alcohol without really looking, dropping his gaze to the clotting red line from waist to thigh. It was as good a place to start as any, and it left him on the ground below him. It was about the most non-threatening position he could take without bearing the back of his neck to him. Which, ah, wasn’t actually a possibility for anything, here. God only knew what was on Carslile’s knife; the risk of infection was too great.

Quinn had found a crease in his blanket. Of course he had. Silas fancied he could feel him watching him, now that he wasn’t looking up, but maybe it was just wishful thinking.

He pulled a dipping bowl and wash cloth from the kit and spilled a bit of whiskey over his hands, letting the run off collect and soak the rag. It burned across his knuckles, and copper glinted. Frowning, he slipped the tool off his fingers and dropped it, letting it lay where it landed. He would worry about it another time. Probably… lose it in the woods.

“I _do_ trust you,” Quinn’s voice was quiet, ragged at the edges. Silas jerked a bit, pulling his attention back-- it was hard not to look up at him. He had the feeling it wouldn’t be as well received as he wanted it to be, and now that Quinn was talking, he didn’t want to do anything that might cause him to go quiet again. “Have for a while now.”

“Okay.” He did not elaborate, even as Silas made sure the rag was thoroughly soaked and squeezed out the run-off, even though it was the perfect time to do so. He lifted his gaze up, daring to try to gauge his expression. Quinn was watching him now, at least, but he couldn’t read him. “I’m going to touch you again, get you cleaned up. Tell me if anything hurts.”

Quinn didn’t answer. Silas’ heart squeezed in his chest. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the silence was new. He wasn’t sure if Quinn had ever been silent in his life. He wasn’t even silent when he was _sleeping_.

Still, it wasn’t a no. He hoped… no, he was sure Quinn would tell him off if the answer were _don’t_ . He shifted closer to the bed and reached out, pressing his palm against the flat of his foot, blue eyes focused on the other’s expression. _No_ didn’t come. Quinn stopped fiddling with the blanket, whole body gone still. Silas waited a heartbeat and then moved again, pulling his hand a bit to rest his fingers first on the balls of his feet, and then moving to the top side. Then down, curling his hand over the front of the ankle; not trapping it between his fingers, though he did squeeze it gently.

Carslile probably hadn’t gone after his ankles, not even to hang on to him. Silas was pretty sure they were safe enough to touch. It wasn’t like Quinn was giving him a whole lot to go on.  It wasn’t like Silas knew what he was _doing_ , besides being hideously selfish, taking the opportunity to put his hands all over Quinn.

He felt a little bit like a monster for it. But Quinn trusted him, and he wouldn’t break that. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, but he wouldn’t break that trust.

He also wouldn’t go and drown Carslile in the swimming pool. It would be so _satisfying_ , but not nearly as much as Quinn in his bed, letting him touch him. Even if the circumstances were shoddy, he was glad he was here. That he had this chance.

He breathed out the urge to go commit both homicide and occupational suicide, letting himself focus on the task at hand as he moved his palm from the ankle to the leg proper, feeling defined calf muscles beneath fingers and thumb. He moved careful, going part of the way up and then sweeping his hand down again, waiting for the _no_ and backtracking every so often. It was easy and almost rhythmic, and he seriously had no idea if it was doing any good at all. When he reached the knee he paused and rested his hand there, pulling his eyes from Quinn’s face to examine the injury again.

He had cleaned his own wounds with a half-wet whiskey rag before, so he was under no illusions how much it stung when he brought the cloth up to wash away the dried blood and clotting plasma. Quinn’s knee jerked under his palm, whole thigh tensing; there might have been an abortive hand motion. He couldn’t be sure, and otherwise he didn’t move. Silas cleaned several inches at a time, applying steri-strips as he went, until the job was done. He put the rag back in the dish. Squeezed Quinn’s knee gently, in warning. Then he bowed his head and pressed a soft kiss to the bottom of the seam.

Quinn _flinched_.

Silas lifted his hand from his kneecap at once, drawing his face away from him to give him back his breathing space. He rocked back on his heels, not looking up, hands held palms out in the universal gesture of harmless. He counted time in his mind, matching it to the way Quinn was breathing. A little less ragged, maybe..? He couldn’t be sure. It was hard to hear over the sound of blood rushing through his head.

“ _Please_.”

It was quiet, and just the one word, mired in breathlessness he didn’t know the root of. He waited a heartbeat, trying to decide if it were a request to continue or the _no_ he had been waiting for. It… sounded like maybe it wasn’t _no_.

He swallowed hard. “I’m going to touch you again,” he warned, hoping he was not misinterpreting the signals. If he was… well. The worst thing Quinn could do would be sock him a good one and never speak to him again. It would hurt, more than a little and in more than one way, but really. That was the worst that could happen.

When Quinn didn’t protest, he rested his hand back on his knee and pressed another kiss to the seam where skin was drawn closed.

He let his kisses linger as he picked his way up the injury, feeling the tight muscles beneath his touch slowly relax. It made him feel better; to think his touch could calm him, that it might even be-- dare he hope it?-- _welcome_ after what had happened. It was probably just him trying to flatter his own ego, but at least it seemed to be helping.

By the time he passed the shell of the hip, his leg was mostly slack under Silas’ fingertips.

He pulled back again, running his fingers carefully up the front of the thigh. He was mindful not to let his fingers stray too close to either side. It wasn’t about that right now. It might not turn into that. It might _never_ be about that. But what it was, right now, was easy. Quinn was getting used to his touch, relearning what it was like to be touched gently, without malice behind it.

Silas was getting to put his lips all over Quinn’s body. All else failed, at least he could never say he’d never gotten to kiss him again. He just wished it were better circumstances.

He rested his palm on the hip, drawing bright eyes up to cut across his torso. Quinn was resting at an awkward angle, propped up one elbow and half sitting. The hand nearest him was curling into the blanket, some odd inches from where the crown of his head had been. He wondered momentarily if that was what he had seen while doctoring him, but he couldn’t be sure and the thought didn’t linger. There was a thick, purpling bar across Quinn’s chest that he couldn’t do a whole hell of a lot about. It ran complete from one side halfway across the center of his chest, more a solid streak than anything, and he took a moment to realize how hard he must have been hit to come out sporting it.

He didn’t think he could swing hard enough to deliver the appropriate response to Carslile’s face. He might have to… practice that.

“I’m going to check your ribs real quick,” and he was already sorry for it, too. He shifted, sitting up on his knees to reach out and test the far side first. There was no getting out of applying pressure, but even moving light when he reached the bruising, Quinn still sucked a breath like Silas had gutted him. He tested each one individually, every sound like a knife in his chest, but it seemed to be okay. Everything still seemed attached. Satisfied, he brought his hand back to check the other half of the ribcage.

Nothing, everything was still anchored where it was supposed to be.

He flicked his gaze up to consider Quinn’s expression. “You can lay back down?” he offered, because it had to be a strain to keep himself propped up that way. “Blood washes out easily enough.”

At least Quinn was willing to meet his gaze, for the moment. Silas hesitated to say what was in his expression; it was torn between something, and there was more shame in his expression than he ever wanted to see on anybody, nevermind that it was _Quinn_. What, on God’s green earth, did Quinn have to be ashamed of?

Carslile had done this. To him. To them.

“Sil,” he started, and then stopped, and Silas tried very hard not to let it get at him. This wasn’t about him, this was about Quinn, and making everything right in the world that could be made right again. He didn’t have any right to want for more than what Quinn was willing to give him. Eventually he just shook his head, like he couldn’t decide what he’d been trying to say, and Silas was willing to take that.

“Okay.”

Quinn had plenty of time to stop him this time, when he bent his head to press a soft kiss to the red stain outlining the bruise. His lips weren’t really magic; there’d be no mystical healing here for Quinn’s body. He was half-tempted to wash him in whiskey, clean away the scent of Carslile that still clung to him, but he had not even half as much whiskey as he’d want and it would sting like hell. Also he wouldn’t get to kiss him.

He liked kissing him. Plan B was sounding like a better and better plan every passing moment.

He traced the outline as far as he could without climbing into bed on top of him, the younger man’s whole form quavering under the attention. His breathing had previously evened out, but-- and Silas took great pride in the knowledge that he was responsible-- he sounded incredibly, terribly breathless, quiet little whimpers falling off his lips, reverberating through Silas’ self-control.

They’d only kissed _once_ . He had no idea what was _wrong_ with him.

He ghosted his way up Quinn’s breastbone, swiping his tongue through the hollow where the collar bones anchored down. It pulled a ragged breath from somewhere deep in Quinn’s chest. Silas grinned against his skin. “Should I be apologizing for this?”

Quinn _groaned_ at him. Silas felt his head tip back, his body dipping a bit. He didn’t get off his elbows and lay down like a sane human being, though, but Silas was alright with that. If he didn’t lay down, getting him up again would be somewhat easier. He had to do his back eventually. “ _Sil_.”

“Hmm?”

“..don’t stop.”

The words buoyed his spirits.

He brought himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, one hand supporting him. The other he rested very lightly on Quinn’s shoulder, letting it slip over the muscles and joints to start a slow trek down his arm. Carslile’d been holding this arm, he recalled dimly, but Quinn only shivered in reaction to _him_.

He licked at the patch of skin again in a pointed promise, relishing the feeling of Quinn shuddering beneath him, and then began to trace a new line of kisses over his collarbone to the far shoulder. Quinn made a sound of protest, heated and mostly breath, and he ignored him to begin his way _back_ , following the defined line of musculature until it met with his skull. Because they were military, they duly had the appropriate haircuts, so there was nothing blocking his path and absolutely nothing that prevented him from closing his lips around the lobe of his ear.

The noise Quinn made was decadent beyond all reason, and it made the uniform pants hideously uncomfortable.

For a fleeting moment, he considered _removing them_ , but no, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to behave with them off. When he was finished with relaxing, reassuring, and otherwise kissing Quinn better and into unconsciousness, _in his bed_ , he’d just have to handle himself. It wouldn’t be the first _or_ last time, at any rate, and, Jesus, they definitely weren’t that far into anything resembling a relationship yet. Still, it made him feel a lot better about accepting Plan B..

He left the other’s ear after a few moments, recalling that hickies on soldiers were in fact prohibited as they were considered damage to government property, and established a new pathway beginning at the jaw hinge. He paid careful, special attention to the purple mottling he’d seen during his exam.

His reward was Quinn shaking off his hand to grab a fistful of his shirt, nails scraping through the material. The other found its way to the back of his neck, and he had to plant his now free hand into the mattress to keep from dropping them both back onto the bed. From the way he arched up against him, he wasn’t sure Quinn was laying on the damned bed anymore. Not at all.

“ _Fuck_.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised, though he had his doubts about the veracity of the statement. He was pretty sure Quinn had _him_. He couldn’t have gone to divest himself of his pants now if he wanted to.

He really wanted to.

He’d behave instead. Mostly. Quinn had temporarily stalled his plan of action, but he’d be back on course soon enough. Of course, he had to reward the behavior. It wouldn’t have been fair otherwise.

He caught Quinn’s lips, sure and certain that Carslile hadn’t dared, that there would be nothing in the kiss except heat and fire and need. Apparently he was wrong though. He jerked away as if Silas was a live wire, eyes gone wide. For the heartbeat he could see his face, those beautiful green eyes glistened wet with unshed emotion, and then Quinn pulled himself close to hide in the crook of his throat. It shifted their balance. Silas rested all the weight on one arm that he could, scooped the other carefully around his back to hold him against him, tight as he dared with half his torso one large bruise. Quinn quivered in his grasp.

His lips were moving against Silas’ skin. It took him a minute to make out that they were supposed to be words, maybe an apology, but only a few of them were loud enough to hear over the confusion he was feeling. He focused on listening.

“Fuck.. fucking filthy now, I can’t-- he, fuck, I can’t...” Quinn took a shuddering breath against his skin, breathing him in, but the words drove a spike right to his brain.

“Quinn--”

“You deserve _better_ ,” he managed, and it was a lie, Silas didn’t deserve Quinn, Quinn was _perfect_ and Silas was going to break _every bone in Carslile’s body_. “I’m sorry, I can’t--”

“ _Don’t_.” He hadn’t meant for it to be so sharp, so harsh. But Quinn’s mouth snapped closed with an audible clack that set his nerves on edge. He took a deep breath of his own and closed his eyes, so at least he didn’t have to look at the red haze darkening his vision. “Just… don’t. Don’t let that vindictive fucker ruin you like this. He lied, I swear he did, Quinn. He lies just by existing.”

“He..”

It hadn’t been a kiss, Silas realized. Quinn wouldn’t be this broken up about it if Carslile had violated him with his _tongue_ . He would use the asshole’s own knife to cut it out regardless, let him choke on his own blood, drown in it. No one would miss him. Silas would go to Leavenworth _happily_ if they caught him.

“Do you trust me, Quinn?” He’d asked it already, but he had to ask it again.

“ _Yes_ ,” and Quinn’s voice broke his heart, so full of grief and guilt. Silas squeezed him gently.

“He lied. But I won't. I’ll never find anyone _better_ because there is _nothing wrong with you_ .” Quinn shuddered. Silas plowed on before he could protest, because Jesus, how could he make him understand if he stopped now..? “I’m going to remove every inch of him from you if you let me, I swear, but you’re perfect, and nothing and no one will ever change that.” Quinn was still shaking, but this time, _he_ squeezed Silas tighter. There was something warm and damp on his neck, and he hoped he hadn’t actually made him start crying, because he had no idea how the hell he would _fix_ that one.

Also he was so screwed. There were zero contingency plans for Plan B, and he _wanted him_ . _So_ screwed. Private Quinn was going to ruin him for life.

He held him like that for several heartbeats longer though, until the younger man finally decided to stop hiding his face and Silas opened his eyes again. He had to shift his grip a bit, being careful as he dared not to put pressure on the wound on his back that he hadn’t gotten to close up yet, being mindful of where there could be bruises. There had been a reddening streak back at the pool, but he had no idea how bad it would be now. This much of Quinn’s skin hadn’t been _purple_ until he’d gotten him here.

Still, Quinn looked up at him. Silas traced the line of dried blood on the side of his face, bottom to top; it actually ended in a puffy red line at his throat, save for a brief slit _there_ , but the higher he went, the more he thought he could tell how accurate James’ shot in the dark might have been. It was a very _precise_ line, and the place it must have began put a block of cold ice in his chest. Had he thought… No, he hoped he hadn’t. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. Carslile didn’t have enough creativity to host the idea. But Quinn was looking up at him, and he caught his gaze. It looked like.. he was trying to decipher _his_ expression.

He smiled down at him. “Can I kiss you?”

A spark of _something_ flickered in Quinn’s shamrock gaze. He bit his lower lip and worried it for a minute, then he nodded. Silas took the _yes_ for what it was, implied but present, and pulled him close to catch his lips again. The first kiss was almost chaste, a little bit of a test, but when he flicked his tongue out to wet dried blood, he parted his lips for him anyway and huffed when he drew aside to press another to his jaw instead. The noise made him feel better; made it feel less like he was just permitting it and more like he _wanted_ him to kiss him. He chuckled at the spur of frustration, and this time when Quinn opened his mouth, Silas set about trying to make him forget his own name.

Kissing him was… it’s own variety of fun. It seemed to take him a few moments to warm up to the idea that yes, Silas _really did_ really need to kiss him senseless, that he wanted to explore the same delicious warmth he had tasted months ago. He tasted different without the whiskey on his tongue, but he really didn’t miss it right now; Quinn was fire enough in his blood when he began kissing back, and he wanted the whole memory of exploring him to be sober, for him to erase every last memory of Carslile and imprint himself all over Quinn’s skin, to suffuse himself beneath it.

Quinn kissed him back, needy, squirming to get good purchase on the bed-sheets. He readjusted his arms, looping the one around Silas’ neck, but he felt the other release his shirt in favor of dropping away to somewhere else. He lost track of it for a minute, breaking the kiss to pepper that thin red line in mystical not-really-healing kisses while Quinn breathed heavy in his ear, trying to catch lost oxygen. He _found it again_ when he felt his fingers _find him_ through the thick material of the uniform trousers.

He cursed, suddenly breathless, and Quinn laughed at him, the merciless miraculous _perfect_ damned prick that he was. Fucking _pants_. “Do I get the rest of you too?”

This time, Silas got to hide his face in Quinn’s neck. “You are going to be my _undoing_ ,” he whined, because yes, please, fuck.

“Is that a yes?”

“You are the _worst patient_ ,” Silas told him, trying his level best for a steady voice and failing miserably. Quinn had dexterous fingers and was undoing the fastenings, and it was half instinct and half heady need that had him rearranging himself. He left one foot on the floor for balance, the bed _really_ wasn’t big enough for two right now, but the other knee he planted on the bed next to his ~~boyfriend’s lover’s subordinate’s~~ crush’s thigh. The new position realigned his body so much better, gave him a new method to balance some of his weight on.

He licked at the hollow dip behind Quinn’s jaw, hoping to-- he wasn’t sure, distract him, maybe, when he found the zipper and tugged it all the way down. He wanted to take a moment to kick off his shoes, throw off his pants and shorts, but Quinn apparently had other plans.

Quinn’s hands were perfect, amazing, _glorious_ things. Silas had been watching them take apart  pistols for _months_ , dreaming at night what it might feel like to be touched and held or stroked by them. He’d imagined being naked, hidden beneath the covers. Having to be quiet, because there were neighbors who would most definitely seriously report him.

He hadn’t expected himself to be fully dressed, not even lying in bed; to have Quinn definitely not pinned beneath him, a fucking tease and a half. He ran calloused fingers over the stretch of belly just above the waistband, then shifted and slid his whole hand into Silas’ shorts, finding the whole length of him like he’d had no trouble at all, like he’d known exactly how to go about it, like he’d been _planning_ it.

White noise shorted his brain for a minute. When it faded he found himself shaking, his arm barely supporting enough of his weight to keep him from collapsing entirely on top of him. They’d dropped the couple of inches back to the bed, his one arm trapped between Quinn’s back and the mattress. His touch was electrifying, and Silas was already _so close_ …

There was laughter in Quinn’s voice, but he couldn’t make out all the words. Something about _perfect_ and _fucking finally_.

Fucking _Quinn_ . “Don’t--” His own voice sounded strangled in his ears, half-broken with need. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Quinn’s shoulder. “ _Don’t_ , I won’t-- I won’t _last_.”

Quinn moved his fingers, but he didn’t take his hand out of Silas’ pants. He curled it around his shaft instead, thumb brushing the root where he was anchored, and Silas gasped, dug his fingers into the mattress. _Fuck_. “That’s kind of the plan.”

“Ah-- let me take my pants off--”

“Nah.” _Fuck_ , but he was good at it, too. He had no difficulties finding just the right way to hold him, just the right maddening, frustrating speed that he slacked up on if Silas tried to move in tandem, because Quinn had apparently set out to _ruin_ him and all his fragile control. He ran his tongue over the shell of his ear, pressing gentle kisses there, sending shockwaves right to his groin. “I’m okay with this. S’nice to watch you come undone.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” but there was no real bite to the words, all breathy whine heated with desire. He wanted this, he really did; he wanted it to be Quinn to wring it out of him, to shatter the barriers and take all of him he wanted, and he _wanted_ Quinn, he wanted him more than he wanted air or water, he needed him, and he was in too deep already, he was never getting out, he’d never be able to give this up.

“Yes _please_ ,” and that was it, that was all he needed. The note of _want_ in his voice and his fingers curled around his dick, and the dam broke. He came with a cry, muscles tight, spilling into Quinn’s fingers the same way he’d wanted to for ages. He lost his balance, barely managing not to land fully on top of him, and Quinn didn’t dare let him go, turning his head to trap him in a gratifying kiss.

And it _was_ a gratifying kiss. With all of the passion and warmth between them, and the desire still coursing through his body. Silas wasn’t quite up for it yet. He wanted a moment to lay here and bask in the afterglow, despite Quinn running his fingers through the coarse curls of his nethers, teasing over-sensitized flesh and just generally being perfect at ruining all his clothes.

Lack of oxygen made him break away, sabotaging the elegant dance of tongues that he really, really wanted to continue. He could make a whole day out of nothing but kissing Quinn. He wanted to. It was kind of a terrible want, of course; _he_ had gotten his release, and the man beneath him certainly hadn’t, he’d have to...

Damn. He hadn’t even finished patching him up. “You are the _worst_ patient,” Silas repeated, fond and exasperated and far huskier than he strictly wanted it to be, because Quinn was running his thumb in teasing circles over the tip of him and _grinning at him_ , the _libertine._ Silas was glad for it regardless, happy that the shuttered, pained expression had caved like a controlled implosion. Quinn deserved to be happy, he really should always be smiling.. and if he were smiling at Silas… well.

“I am the _best_ patient,” Quinn disagreed, purring up at him, and wow, that sound did amazing things to his anatomy.

He couldn’t really disagree either, because he was actually the only patient Silas had, and definitely the only one he’d reward with kisses. Good and bad behavior both, apparently, because when Quinn caught his mouth for another bout, he let him, permitted him to sweep in and plunder the depths. There was no struggle for dominance; for the moment, he yielded to him, struggling to get his balance beneath him at the same time.

It was a trick. Quinn’s kisses were distracting and perfect, mimicking the same line of thought he’d applied when kissing _him_ . To leave nothing unexplored, to leave no doubts that Quinn was beyond wanted, that he was _desired_ with a burning need Silas would never be able to fill on his own. To be on the receiving end, to feel the same want turned back on him.. It left him light-headed, curling his toes, and it mostly made him want to melt right back on top of him.

It was a good plan. An _amazing_ plan. Possibly his best plan yet.

But he couldn’t. Quinn’s back had been a small river of red at the pool, a streak of split skin, and he really, really had to handle that before Quinn brought him to peak in his pants twice in a matter of minutes.

He rested his weight on his trapped elbow, ran his fingers from the other’s elbow down to the wrist hidden in his shorts. Quinn broke the kiss to _mewl_ at him in protest, what the hell. Silas attempted to pacify him with another short kiss, a promise of something greater, and it must have been promise enough because the other soldier released him, let his hand be drawn out of his shorts.

He flipped it to slide it up underneath his shirt instead, so of course Silas was utterly doomed.

He shook his head, despite Quinn’s touch, despite the clear and obvious want in his expression. “No, wait. Just a bit? I need to patch you up first, then I’ll let you touch me all you want to, okay?”

“You already put my leg together,” he pointed out, and it was the most thinly disguised attempt to continue in a long while. Silas looked down at him and wondered if it was some sort of dumb luck that had given him a chance with this man at all. “And my back feels fine,” he added, when he noticed Silas was definitely not relenting.

“Your back feels fine right now because you’re drunk on sex.” It was absolutely the worst phrase people could have invented, considering the circumstances, but it wasn’t entirely wrong, either. “Trust me, this is going to be a real bitch tomorrow, and it’ll only be worse if I don’t help it along.”

It would feel a lot worse before it got anywhere near better. At least the mess kept them all rife with protein. He’d heal quickly that way.. at least physically. Quinn’s body _would_ heal. He didn’t doubt that. And while that was important if he wanted to stay in the service, it wasn’t the only thing to consider.

Silas didn’t have magic kisses to fix everything else, though.

He wished he had enough magic kisses to chase the sudden flicker of hurt and shadows out of Quinn’s eyes.

“Can’t we just.. forget about it for now?” His words felt like a knife, slicing deep into Silas’ heart, and he honestly, really wished it was something that could just be forgotten. That somehow he could turn back time and take away what had happened. He couldn’t; obviously if time travel had yet been invented, bureaucrats would have done something suitably terrible with it, and alright, he loved his country, he loved the military, but they would have tried to _weaponize it_.. and it would still have done them no good.

But if wishes were pennies, he’d have enough money to bribe someone to boot Carslile out of the military.

It was probably fundamentally safer than murdering him… but it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.

“We can’t,” Silas apologized. Well. They probably could. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the mirror if he did. And Quinn _needed_ to be patched together, if nothing else, though Silas couldn’t imagine laying on his belly right now would be particularly pleasant. Letting Silas behind him, _over him_ … It was hard for him to even ask. “Trust me. Please.. let me erase him.”

Quinn quivered in his grasp, his expression looking something close to tortured. He could see the struggle in his eyes, the debate: roll over and expose himself, or not? Continue to protest-- because Quinn was a smooth talker, he could usually get people to see his way of thinking without too much trouble-- or consent to Silas’ whims?

He thought he could see the moment Quinn made up his mind. Still, the shaking didn’t stop, even as he nodded once. And then again, eyes surer. Silas smiled down at him, encouraging and grateful, and snaked his hand into his own shirt to curl his fingers up in with Quinn’s, slick and warm. Quinn squeezed his fingers back tightly and held on, even as it finally-- finally-- withdrew from his shirt. He didn’t let go of his hand even then, nor did he release him while he rolled onto his side and then his stomach.

Silas could give him that. Especially since he moved off his other arm, which… well, combined with all the rest, it all amounted to a pretty obvious _get it over with_. He leaned forward to press a quick kiss on the back of his neck, still apologetic.

“I’ve got you, Quinn.” At least it wasn’t so hard to arrange his supplies with one hand. The whiskey dish, strips, the rag. He sat a roll of gauze-tape on the bed as well; this was an injury large enough that a little extra precaution would not go entirely amiss. And he probably would have started then, there at the apex, but he spotted the shock of red in his hair about then. He wetted the rag and ran it over his scalp gently, wiping away blood that.. did not appear to be entirely _not_ his, judging by the way Quinn hissed and gripped at his hand.

When he finally washed the blood out of his hair and checked the tender flesh, he found a strip of bruising-- not as bold or as dark as the bruises elsewhere, a pretty light clock by comparison-- with only a split seam where the impact was most immediate. Scalp wounds bled like a bitch, and it didn’t take a lot to draw blood to the surface. There was also a handful of smaller breaks at the very back of his skull, where someone’s teeth had hit hard.

He wondered how hard he’d have to hit Carslile with his own bat to knock his teeth out…

Not enough to be satisfying, probably. He cast the thought aside for later, focusing on the fact that the injuries appeared to have knitted themselves together enough that the bleeding had stopped, even with the application of whiskey.

It wasn’t _good_ , not by a long shot. But it was good enough that he let it be and moved down, squeezing the liquid from the rag into the dip his spine made. Quinn tried really hard to be still, which only made him quiver more. He set to work cleaning where the blood had pooled and dried first, the whole strip of it, working the rag in careful, small circles in the alcohol until the bloodied remnants had been soaked up again. He made a point to speak the whole time, but especially when he edged close to the incision itself. That would require clean whiskey, the same way his hip had.

Quinn’s grip on his entrapped fingers only increased when he announced he was going to to attend to the injury proper.

He tried not to let that bother him overly much. It didn’t change anything. He still had to doctor him up, and it was still going to happen no matter how bruising his grip was.

Like with his thigh, he moved a couple inches at a time; cleaning, patching, down the next few inches. He filled the silence where he could, adding extra strips where whiskey revealed the knife had cut deeper than the rest, and tried to ignore the sounds of Quinn’s suffering. It wasn’t easy. Every noise was like a personal wound, every flinch and muscle spasm a way to drive home the hurt.

Running his palm over Quinn’s back when he was finished told him that he wasn’t relaxed still, but he thought maybe he was somewhat less rigid than he was before. Silas squeezed at his fingers to alert him before he lowered his head to begin his line of kisses, beginning at the junction between skull and neck. He followed the vertebra and the injury both, matching kisses to soothing circles drawn by his thumb, one _here_ and one _here_ , as if he could impress through contact that they were both just important but neither made him _less_.

When he reached the end, Quinn… wasn’t at ease, but he was easier.

Silas didn’t _quite_ manage to entirely curb the urge to lick at the skin near where the line hooked above the curve of his ass, like he kind of wanted to lick the rest of him, as if that were some kind of claim he could have over Carslile’s knife. But it was just one quick lick, a taste of Quinn and whiskey, and the gasp Quinn gave in response was surprised but not unhappy. He kissed at the divot again, then moved to trace his way up his spine once more.

With kisses this time, because Silas King was a covetous wretch and he knew it.

He moved slow here as well, but not for entirely the same reasons. Even as he made his way back up his body, he let his empty hand slide down to palm Quinn’s heel, his ankle, the bruised backside of his knee. When he made it to the back side of his thigh he left it there, applying just enough pressure so that Quinn knew it was there, and no more.

He was still full of motion beneath Silas’ fingers, his lips, but it didn’t feel quite the same as it had before. It wasn’t a tremor, born from lingering-- and entirely justified-- fears. It wasn’t the stillness of petrification, either.

He pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and then a short trail beneath his hairline to his jaw, to the hollow beneath his ear, so he could be certain Quinn heard him, no matter what. “Your back’s all done. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Quinn huffed at him, his voice low and _certainly_ not the least bit scared, now. Pride and want settled together in Silas’ soul. “Why do you feel _so good_? It’s fucking sinful.”

“You sure know how to compliment a man.” Silas grinned against his skin. “Try not to ruin the bedding, won’t you? We can get to that in a minute.” Quinn keened at him, which made him feel both apologetic and even better about the situation, surer in his line of thinking. He leaned back a bit, sitting up, and fished out a bottle of water from the kit to cleanse the rag with.

There were some places whiskey wasn’t meant to go, and the ability to blow Quinn’s mind would be useful in a few minutes, because Quinn tensed and squeezed his hand again when he ran the warm cloth over the rest of the red stains, caressing his _gorgeous_ ass. He had to be the worst type of person for enjoying this, but it was hard not to. Quinn could have made super-models green with envy just by being in the same building, never mind the same room.

Silas squeezed his fingers back, reassuring. It was the only real apology he had to offer to this invasion, at least until he managed to catch Carslile. “I’ve got you, Quinn, it’s just me. You can trust me; I promise, I’m never going to hurt you.” It was an easy thing to promise, because he knew he could keep it. Quinn wasn’t the sort of person who could push his triggers-- Quinn was a _good_ person, a _better_ person, a person who was worth all the softest touches in the world.

Silas would make him understand that eventually. He’d figure out a way.

...he would _probably_ get to deal with Carslile first. That was unsettling, but he could handle it. And it wasn’t like dealing with Carslile was going to… ruin.. Well, he hoped dealing with Carslile wouldn’t ruin this thing, whatever it was. If Quinn took some sort of umbridge to Silas throwing Johnny Carslile’s corpse off a bridge or something, Silas had no idea how he was going to handle it.

He slipped the rag down into the cleft of his cheeks, and Quinn hissed at him in protest. “Don’t--”

 _“Easy_ . I’m not going to hurt you.” But he was going to clean all of Carslile off him, even if it hurt. The only saving grace out of all of this was that the asshole hadn’t had the chance to _finish_ . If he had, that flag of his wouldn’t have been flying so high, and Silas.. well. Silas had been entirely prepared to kill him there in the pool before the implication that Quinn was still _alive_ came into existence. He didn’t know how or if that might have shifted, if Carslile had been able to finish what he’d been planning.

Quinn breathed out shakily, then he nodded. “Okay.”

Silas continued. He moved mindfully, cleaning away the blood on each half of the valley with careful, light strokes, removing what evidence he could. He paid special attention to the ring of abused muscle, wishing there were a better way to cleanse Carslile’s filth from him than to run roughshod over his desires, his comforts.

When he was finished, he swept the rag over the other, neglected cheek purely so it wouldn’t feel left out, and let the rag settle back into the wash bowl.

He could hear Quinn trying to ease out his breathing, and maybe, hopefully he was also attempting to talk himself into letting Silas’ hand have a break, that would be wonderful. He had his doubts about that particular one happening, though, because Quinn’s other hand was fisted tightly into the blanket, reddened knuckles turning white. “I’m done. Here, you can roll back over now. It’s not as bad as it looked; I didn’t even need a layer of tape.”

The blood had made it look significantly worse than it had been, but it wasn’t like Silas wasn’t going to admit it hadn’t been _bad_. At least Quinn would be able to walk, and it would scar up, but at least it would heal. He doubted it would be bad enough to warrant a report at all, even if the situation had been different. He’d need painkillers though; something that wasn’t whiskey, at least for a week or so.

Silas could get those. Not until people came back to base, but Silas could _get those_ , and that was important.

Quinn took his own time, and Silas was… more or less willing to match his pace and wait. Mostly. He wasn’t going to admit that reaching out to run his fingers over Quinn’s back might have had more than one ulterior motive. He was alright just petting him for a while..

It wasn’t like he had anywhere else he had to _be_ . He was off-duty for… another day and a half, at least. And he didn’t have to worry about neighbors for another _twenty four hours_ ; on the scale of things, Carslile had picked the best time to go around being a dick. Forcing Silas’ hand and all. Really, a whole day’s worth of uninterrupted Quinn time was almost worth rewarding Carslile by not shanking him in the soldier shower.

Almost.

“You know,” Silas began, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. Quinn stirred at the sound of his voice, a little, which meant he was listening. Which meant he was capable of hearing him still, even through whatever memories were being unmade. He ran blunted nails over the curves and plains of musculature. “I’ve been wondering how I was going to get you back in my rack. You manage to make it much more appealing.”

Quinn shifted a little to peer up at him. He thought he could feel his back relaxing again, a little at a time. “You can come down and join me?”

 _Tempting_ . But no. “Later,” he promised, because the checklist in the back of his mind wasn’t _finished_ yet, damn it. “If I settle down now, I won’t get back up again until tomorrow. You know I can’t leave the room like this.” To say absolutely nothing of sleeping in these pants. That just wasn’t going to happen. If he ever got all his fingers back, it was one of the things that had to get done before he surrendered them again.

Quinn pouted at him. It was adorable in all the best ways, and Silas shifted a bit so he could lean forward and kiss it away without also having to break his own spine to make it happen. It was hesitant for only a moment-- surprise, maybe? --before Quinn started to return it in earnest. He waited a heartbeat and then drew away, smiling down at him, wry and maybe a little teasing. His reward was a frustrated growl and an annoyed glower. He sat back up anyway, unhindered and not overly concerned about retribution. He slid his hand down Quinn’s side to rest it at his bare hip, fingers light.

“Sil!”

“Quinn,” he parrotted. “Unless you’re going to sleep, roll over. Though if you are going to sleep, you should still roll over. The stitches will hold, if that’s why you’re hesitating?” Probably not. Probably he was just tired. Exhausted and horny didn’t _usually_ go together, but Silas wouldn’t put it past him to find a new way to function.

“Just _kiss_ me again!”

“I’ll kiss you all you want me to kiss you,” and in plenty of ways, if he let him. “But you have to roll back first.”

_“Sil!”_

“Nope. You can’t even grab me from that position.” For a moment Quinn’s face was darkened in confusion at his words, puzzling over them. He could see them being turned over in his mind, considered. Then he saw the moment Quinn _understood_ , because his eyes lit up and his lips pulled into a fascinating and absolutely mouthwatering smirk. “So…?”

The younger soldier unthreaded his fingers from the bedding and tucked his arm, rolling over onto his back. He reached out to slip a hand around the back of Silas’ neck, and he bowed closer to let him, relenting under the slight pressure to reward them both with a kiss. All the while he never let go of Silas’ fingers.. but Silas would live with that. It felt nice, for his hand to be held again.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this, being with someone he cared for. The gentle touches and the way his soul swelled with comfort and acceptance, how easy it was to drown in the scent of someone else, in their taste.

Quinn tasted like courage and strength, and heady, thready want, intoxicating and delicious. Silas was never going to be able to _stop_ , and the awareness of that was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He didn’t break the kiss until his lungs began to scream for oxygen, unwilling to cease the battle of tongues for anything less than absolute necessity. Which breathing was, unfortunately, but at least Quinn didn’t let him go far. That was reassuring in it’s own way; Quinn’s fingers on the back of his neck, light but ever present, thrumming a wordless litany of _stay close_ and _don’t go_ through his veins, just as important as anything else they could have said or done.

A form of possession he couldn’t help but enjoy. Quinn didn’t seem to mind either, which was even better. He pulled Silas back in and missed his lips; that was okay, because he was still trying to re-oxygenate his bloodstream. It was hard for Quinn to steal his breath away when he didn’t have any to be stolen.

It was also okay because Quinn pressed a line of kisses across his cheek to the corner of his jaw, and then, because Quinn was a corrupt and overly intelligent master of _everything_ , damn him, he nipped his way down the muscles of Silas’ throat. He tipped his head to give him better access, pleasure coursing in waves through his muscles, and why the _hell_ was he still wearing pants, what was wrong with him?

\--ah. Right. Self-control. What vestiges he had left of it, at any rate. Probably.

“Quinn..?” A brief increase of pressure against his neck, Quinn’s palm conforming to the vertebrae perfectly, like it was always meant to rest there. Silas closed his eyes to enjoy it, short as it was. Just communication from Quinn; _I’m here, listening._ “Hey, stop for a minute.”

Quinn’s teeth found the knot of muscle at the base of his throat, and he bit hard in reprimand. Silas nearly lost his balance and collapsed on top of him, plans be damned, because, _fuck, Quinn, yes please_.

 _Focus_ , Silas told himself, but the thought itself was scrambled with desire and lust, _pants are on._

Fuck pants. Pants could go to hell.

Quinn was grinning against his skin, kneading the tissue with his incisors, _probably_ because he could tell what it was doing to Silas’ ability to think. He fisted his own fingers into the blanket this time in an attempt to anchor himself to the reality Quinn seemed so keen to remove him from.

Not so easy. It took him a few torturous minutes to remember what words he was supposed to use to manage a complete thought. He rested his forehead on the pillow next to Quinn’s, so he could not-whine into his ear with as little breath as possible.

“No, please? There’s--” ah, fuck words, what the hell. He took a steadying breath, wondering if oxygen deprivation was making him loopy or if that was entirely caused by Quinn’s hot mouth on his shoulder. “There’s something I want to do? Promise you can sink your teeth into me all you want when we’re done.”

Maybe it was the words, or the fact that he’d managed to form a complete sentence, but whatever it was, it pried an inquisitive sound from Quinn’s throat, which meant it was _mostly_ a success. He made a point of continuing the few more inches to where the muscle anchored to his shoulder, all pointed, possessive bites that were rapidly making _wearing pants_ a great offense to the continuation of the evening. Silas wanted to curse at him for it, a bit, but in the end no actual words managed to be issued about it at all.

He was rapidly becoming addicted to everything this man was, and fucking hell, before tonight they’d only kissed _once_. He had no idea how this had happened.

Admitting it out loud could be lethal. He nuzzled Quinn’s throat instead, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow he found there as he began a trail downward, the comfort of his fingers reassuring him where his own courage might have faltered. Silas could feel his ribs rise and fall as he marked his way down Quinn’s sternum, following the centerline of his body to the navel-- worthy of special note, this age-old scar, a universal truth that somewhere, someone had brought this precious being into existence despite all the pains and troubles he could imagine a young Quinn could have gotten up to.

But Quinn was here now, and whoever she had been, Silas was very grateful for her work. Quinn was amazing. _Perfect_ , perhaps. Though that wasn’t a word he’d utter in Quinn’s earshot; best not to stroke his ego _too_ often, and certainly not with something reverent.

Below there was a light dusting of chocolate hairs, soft and velvetine to the touch, and Silas leaned up a bit, knees settled on his foot-locker, to get a full view of the whole of him, of the treasure that more than lived up to his dreams.

Reality was always better than fantasy, and it did not disappoint.

“Sil?“ Quinn’s voice was hungry and maybe a little confused, more than a little hopeful. Silas flicked shock-blue eyes up to his face, and found Quinn pushed up on one elbow, peering at him like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the potential.

If Quinn had been sitting on the edge of the bed, Silas would have been on his knees before him, prepared to worship the angel Heaven had sent him. Quinn wasn’t, so he’d have to adjust proper worshipping procedures, but Quinn’s brilliant green eyes had darkened to a stormy near-black with his own want, so Silas was _really_ sure it didn’t matter.

He was suddenly really glad though that Quinn hadn’t let go of his hand, that he still had their fingers curled together. It was… really sweet.

He rested his free hand lightly on his thigh, brushing his thumb in light circles over the femoral artery. It was probably a bad habit, but it was just something he did and Quinn certain didn’t seem to mind the contact, considering the way his dick twitched in response.

Silas was probably also bad for smiling. That he couldn’t help at all. “It’s okay,” he promised, “I’ve got you. Just relax.” Then he bowed his back and pressed his lips to the swollen tip of him in a gentle kiss. It was light, not much more than a butterfly kiss, but Quinn made a sound that made Silas very glad their neighbors were gone for the weekend. He glanced up to check on him; found his expression intense, eyes focused on him alone.

Silas wasn’t sure he’d notice if the building burned down around them, at the moment, and he snaked his tongue out to run it over his flesh in an attempt to keep him that way. He had plenty of experience at leaving his sweetheart tongue-tied and speechless, at least, and maybe it worked on Quinn too, he wasn’t sure. All he knew for certain was that when he shifted to make a wet path down the side, Quinn didn’t _say_ anything, those sounds weren’t anything resembling words.

That was pretty flattering to his ego, if he were being entirely honest, because it was Quinn _quiet_ in a way that was for all the right reasons this time. He kissed at the hilt, brief, drawing a shivering, breathy sigh out of Quinn-- and maybe it was reward, or chastisement, that encouraged Silas to nuzzle the soft hairs there, or maybe he was _slightly_ buzzed off the scent of Quinn and the immediate proof of how much he wanted _him_ , so close he could run his tongue along the seam.

He did that, slow and deliberate, parting his lips to engulf him. He’d no sooner taken the head of him into his mouth then Quinn shifted, hand dropping from the back of his neck to fist into the collar of his shirt, nails scraping his skin where the material wasn’t thick enough to provide a barrier. The reaction was sudden and unexpected, but in a heartbeat it coalesced into one singular realization.

 _Oh_.

He hadn’t expected… not out of Quinn. Quinn was a _good_ kisser, he’d thought perhaps..

Silas ran his tongue around the edges once, thinking hard as he dared to peek up at Quinn through his lashes. The knowledge, unconfirmed as it might have been, didn’t change much except how fast he’d planned to go. He went down slow, deliberately aware the shift in pace didn’t match, but all of the sudden he didn’t want this to end too quickly. Maybe Quinn wanted this to be done and over with, satisfaction an immediate reward, but that was no longer an option on the table.

Maybe on the table…

No. Behave. He could behave. He could make this beautiful and perfect for Quinn, everything he deserved without wine and roses. He could deliver _Carslile’s skull_ in a basket of roses--

 _Behave_ , he was behaving, his pants were still on and Quinn was a sinful and luxurious human being that he _wanted_ and who was _letting him have him_ , right here on his own bunk, unadorned and a pinnacle of absolute perfection. Silas was going to keep him as long as Quinn _let him_. God, he hoped he got to, because Quinn was going to ruin him, he could already tell.

Wearing pants was probably the only thing that had kept him out of the bed so far.

Quinn shifted a bit beneath him, and what were _definitely_ not words almost sounded like a request to stop _teasing me, damn it Sil_ , Quinn’s muscles tense beneath him, inside him, trying to stay still and managing it only just. He hummed at him, a low rumble from somewhere deep, and Quinn’s hips jerked upwards in a clear demand. Silas shifted his position a bit to pick up his pace, all too willing to oblige him. He slid his hand over Quinn’s hip, back around to squeeze his ass, and his lover jumped again-- _lover, yes, please_.

_“Siiiiillll!”_

He sank down on him again, swallowing him as Quinn’s muscles spasmed and he came with a groan that was _entirely_ heedless of the neighbors they didn’t have. He was-- he was sharp and sweet and Silas was _definitely_ doing this for him again later, because Quinn was making beautiful, amazing breathy sounds and he tasted like heaven, even after Silas swallowed the last drop and drew away.

Quinn’s hand was still fisted very lightly in his shirt, but he left it there, crawling up on the bed atop him. There was less immediate need when Silas caught his lips this time, but he could taste Quinn and _Quinn_ , and life was fucking perfect in this one moment.

“Worth it?” Silas murmured the question against his skin, because he was an unapologetic cad, apparently, Quinn had broken his manners.

“Fuck,” Quinn’s voice was dazed, and Silas preened a bit at the sound. “ _Yes_. Again?”

“Later,” Silas promised him. “Don’t worry. Later will come.”

It would hopefully come after some rest, after a proper courtship, maybe after retirement even though that was _forever_ from now. But definitely after rest, and certainly after he had gotten out of his pants-- or maybe he should leave them on, behave himself? --no, definitely getting out of the pants. The garments were already starting to dry and stick to him, and he hadn’t been able to sleep in shorts in years anyway.

He should probably try tonight, for Quinn’s sake. Tonight more than any other night.

Not that he’d slept in his birthday suit the last time he’d had Quinn in his bed. But he hadn’t slept well, either. He usually didn’t. Clothes were tight and uncomfortable, and when he had time worth truly sleeping.. well, he preferred it _be_ comfortable.

He wasn’t going to have that when he deployed. He hadn’t been able to break the habit yet though, despite many attempts at it. Tonight would just be… another attempt. That’s right.

“Fuck later,” Quinn said, voice lower than it strictly had any right to be, damnit, the tone was hot. Silas had no idea if Quinn knew what he was _doing_ . He also definitely needed his pants, because an immediate reaction of _hell yes_ wasn’t the option he was supposed to be considering here.

He swallowed hard, burying his nose in Quinn’s shoulder. He wanted him now, more than he should, and he was something of a terrible person for it. Quinn definitely wasn’t making it any easier for him to say no, and he probably _knew_ it, too. Damn it. “You need rest. We both do. So it will have to wait for at least a little while.” Quinn didn’t say anything in response, exactly, but Silas figured the frustrated sound he made was probably as close to a yes as he was going to get.

Silas rewarded him with another brief kiss in gratitude before he sat upright, planting himself on the mattress next to Quinn’s hips. He didn’t want to start something else, something more that they wouldn’t be able to finish, even though Quinn absolutely already _had_.

Damned pants…

But the younger soldier was watching him, eyes half-lidded and clouded over with the afterglow, warmed with affection. It made Silas feel significantly better about the whole thing, honestly. It wasn’t right, of course; he could get in so much trouble already, for everything he’d already done and the things he _wanted_ to do. The thought that maybe he would be found out was only an acknowledgement of the very real fear that it would happen, and with him looking up at him that way.. It made the fear a little less poignant.

“What happens now?”

Questions. God, but Quinn’s mouth didn’t stop moving. Silas ~~loved~~ liked that about him. It was one of the few things he could admit to freely, even. “Now I finish putting you back together, so we can get some rest.” Quinn’s expression was.. maybe a little wary, but inquisitive. The warmth never left.

He reached out and ran his fingers over the top of the nearest shoulder, and then down the length of his arm, all gentle yet firm enough for even a sex-drunk Quinn to follow. As he drew closer to the wrist, he rested his other hand next to it’s brother and began to check the hand. The young private was good with his hands too; Silas might have learned a long time ago to use tools to back up his swings, but they both had _punching bullies_ _in the face_ as a common trait.

He checked the lay of the bones, first. There were so many tiny bones in the hands and feet, and even the slightest shift could cause a ton of discomfort. Everything seemed more or less aligned however, from wrist to knuckle and knuckle to fingertip, even if the knuckles themselves were reddened, a little bloodied. When he finished with this hand, he rested it on his lap and reached to detract the other from the collar of his shirt so he could repeat the exam.

The whole time, Quinn just let him. He stayed still and compliant, letting Silas test his range of motion, letting him feel for broken bones. When he finished both, he moved to cleanse the rag in the basin. Alcohol destroyed so much bacteria, it was no wonder people had been using it for millenniums. Even diluted with the water from earlier, when he began washing Quinn’s hands, it more than got the job done.

He washed both, Quinn hissing at him in discomfort. Then he pressed his lips to the split flesh, a kiss on ever knuckle that.. he might have used to hide the flick of a tongue over the lacerations.

Silas probably would not admit that out loud to anyone else. But he smiled against Quinn’s fingers when the discomfort melted away, and made a point not to do anything else too teasing, even though he wanted to. They needed rest, not practice for triple-x movies.

“Sil---”

“Do they feel better?”

It seemed to take a moment for Quinn to gather his brain together enough to nod, and then he shifted to reach out and grab his face, drawing him in for another kiss that tasted like a thank you. Silas let him, and kissed him back, because Quinn’s kisses were addicting and he was already hooked. When they broke for air-- or more precisely when Quinn let Silas breathe again-- the man kissed at his jawline.

It didn’t do for Silas what it seemed to do for Quinn, but Silas was more than happy to let Quinn put his mouth anywhere he wanted to put his mouth.

He just had to get rid of his _pants_ first. “Hey. Let me up for a bit.”

“But you’re done?”

It was the worst protest to offer, when Silas was leaning over him with another hard-on and wishing kind of desperately they had done this months ago. _Done_ , when he hadn’t even gotten started. Damn. “And you’re insatiable. Seriously though.. let me up for a bit. I have to put the supplies away and shove these clothes in the wash-bag.”

For a heartbeat, Quinn was silent. And then he was pushing Silas up away from him, nodding emphatically. “Yes. Take them off.”

“Insatiable,” Silas repeated, grinning down at him. He ducked in close, pressing a quick kiss against the other’s breastbone. Quinn swatted at his shoulder and he obediently slid down onto the floor, chuckling at him. It was good to see him emotive, finally expressing it to him freely, with no hidden shadows lurking in his expression. He’d forgotten, maybe, at least for a little while.

It had been a long time since he’d had his whole kit unveiled to patch someone up, but he hadn’t forgotten how to put it back together, and it was an easy rhythm to fall into, a checklist that didn’t take long at all to complete. Whiskey, unused strips, the gauze-tape he hadn’t had to use, it all got put away in the reverse order he had pulled it. The only thing he kept was the water and the washcloth, one to rinse and one to wash his face, then _be_ rinsed in turn. He let it drizzle into the bowl, distantly aware that he was being watched as he worked.

He couldn’t leave his tools untended though, so Quinn would have to wait while he rinsed the rag and squeezed out what liquid he could, laying it over the back of the lone chair to drip dry. He stood up carrying the bottle of water and the dish of _mostly_ whiskey. A few quick steps brought him to the door, and upon ensuring there was no one outside, he emptied the dish next to his steps. Nobody would comment on it, and whatever scent might linger in the sand would wash away with the next rain.

For a moment he seriously considered scouring it. But it was cold outside, and he was sticky, and there was a delicious and thoroughly naked man in his bed waiting for him, so he just rinsed it out with the bottle of water instead and brought it back in, flipping the bowl upside down on the table.

He made a point to lock the door before he left it, just to ensure there were no uninvited visitors.

“Are you cold?”

“You can come warm me up~?”

Silas glanced over at him. Quinn was propped up on his elbows, looking altogether _too_ welcoming, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. It took a lot of effort not to let his gaze dip downward, though he was pretty sure Quinn was shifting his hips to _make_ him look. The rake.

He struggled to keep a straight face. “Or I can turn the space heater on?”

Quinn pouted at him. It was a magnificent expression; his lips were a little bruised, the way all freshly kissed lips really aught to look, the lower lip jutting out _just so_ , and Quinn was a terrible human being, thank God for pants. He thought that was why he loved liked him so much. Certainly it didn’t _hurt_...

No, pants. He was wearing pants. He had to behave. Damn.

It was easier to turn on the space heater than it was to fish out shorts. He set it to run continuously, and turn on if it dropped below seventy-five. He had no idea how low the temperature was supposed to drop tonight, but-- assuming Quinn didn’t kick him out of his bunk entirely tonight-- two bodies heating the space beneath his covers should keep them warm enough after that.

Of course, it had the audacity to immediately turn on.

He didn’t really have enough words to apologize to Quinn for that. He wasn’t that cold, himself, but he was _dressed_ , and Silas had absolutely no idea what the hell Carslile had done to Quinn’s clothes. He hadn’t seen them in the poolhouse, he didn’t think.

He’d buy him replacements. The originals were probably a lost cause.

“This should get the room warmed up soon enough. Least we won’t freeze tonight.”

“Are you going to come back to bed now?”

“Needy,” Silas teased, making his way to his footlocker to find a new pair of shorts. It put him at a _very_ interesting location. It took all his self-control not to look, especially because Quinn was rearranging himself _again_ and making things pretty damned hard. “I just have to change and kill the lights. You can wait a few more moments, can’t you?”

“No, I can’t. Come to bed?”

“I’m not going to bed in these.”

“So take them off and come to bed.”

Silas made the mistake of looking up.

It was a ~~perfect terrible amazing~~ perfect ~~glorious~~ view. Quinn had sat up to rest his weight on his hands, legs spread invitingly and tantalizing and _perfectly sinful_ . Silas had no idea how there was enough blood left in the rest of his body to explain the heat in his face. Considering the way his lips twisted into a come-hither smirk, _Quinn was doing it on purpose_ , and that only made Silas blush even harder.

Considering the things he’d done to him, the places he’d ran his lips and his tongue, it was almost foolish to feel so damnably shy all of the sudden, but he really couldn’t help himself.

It was one thing to be exposed to him. It was something entirely different to make himself _vulnerable_ to Silas in such an enticing manner, like he knew all of his buttons and just the right words, and damn him for being so titillating and sounding so _interested_ at the same time. Fuck.

“Do you like what you see?” Quinn asked, sultry with barely-audible hope in the eddies. Distantly Silas had a half-crazed thought that nobody could ever _not_ like what Quinn was, his mind and his heart and the body he presented like Silas had actually earned some sort of gift.

“ _Yes_ .” Was that his voice? He couldn’t tell. It must have been, they were the only ones here and Quinn certainly hadn’t said it, Silas would have noticed his mouth move if he had. Damn, he sounded so _wanting_ , it wasn’t right, he shouldn’t-- He needed pants. He swallowed and shoved his hand into the footlocker, groping blindly for his clothes. Quinn had caught his eyes and he couldn’t look away. Not that he wanted to. Why would anybody?

He was so screwed. Plan B wasn’t going to work, he was never going to be able to follow through with it the right way. He hadn’t _made_ a Plan C.

“Yes, I do. Very much.”

“So come to bed?”

Okay. Screw shorts. If Quinn wanted him without shorts, he could do without shorts. He could behave without shorts. He could. He’d done it before.

“I have to kill the light?”

“There’s no window,” Quinn pointed out helpfully. “And I want to see you.”

Now _Silas_ felt exposed, even though he was still fully dressed from shoulders down. He could feel the heat climbing up his cheeks to his hairline, and on his complexion it was bright, he knew it was, and there was _no way_ Quinn didn’t notice, the corner of his lips twitching up in self-satisfaction, which only made him blush harder. He had to wonder how he had to look from Quinn’s perspective; wasn’t entirely sure if knowing would embarrass him more or not.

Considering the way Quinn was looking down at him, he was betting on _yes_.

He swallowed. His voice shook a bit, more than he wanted it to. He blamed Quinn for it. “You sure?”

There was a flicker in Quinn’s eyes, a wash of vulnerability that lasted long enough for Silas to feel weirdly flattered by the trust, and then it was hidden away. He shifted forward a bit, offered an encouraging smile up to him. He didn’t say anything. He just looked.

_I want to see you._

Toby never had. But if Quinn could trust him this much, with these things.. Silas couldn’t deny him this request. It was just weird, that was all; for the light to be on, for someone to be capable of seeing him..

It was different in the showers; showers were practical necessities, and no one gave a damn about other people because they were all scrambling for warm water or bitching because it was cold. They were for getting clean, not for ogling people, not for feeling self-conscious. Water wasn’t always going to be as plentiful as it was here on base, and most of them knew it. They had to enjoy it while they could, before graduation, deployment, postings… In the showers, he never felt self conscious, because nobody was ever _looking_.

Quinn wasn’t just looking, either. Silas swallowed, resisting the urge to… turn away or go turn the light off anyway, as if he could step back into the easy comfort from here. He couldn’t; he had never been the sort to back down from a challenge, and this one was Quinn’s, was for Quinn, and. And.

He untucked his shirt, fingers plucking nervously at the material. Quinn’s bold green eyes held him ensnared, but he didn’t _say_ anything, he just sat there quiet, and Silas forced himself to continue onward, pulling the material up and over his head, off. The motion wasn’t as fluid as he would have liked, but at least he managed not to get himself caught in it. He thought he would have died in embarrassment if it had, right here in this spot.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Quinn’s expression when he looked at him again. But he was moving now, and if he stopped to consider what Quinn must be seeing, what he must be thinking, he was going to sleep in the soldier bunks and leave Quinn alone for the night. God knew he didn’t have the kind of courage to start again.

He brought his foot up to brace it on the locker, leaning down to undo the laces, pull the worn boot off. It’s brother went with it, then his socks; there was no way he was getting into bed with socks on, not if he wanted to be comfortable. Being in bed with _Quinn_ was going to leave him burning with want, and he was probably going to get _kicked out_ of the bed for it as it was. He dropped both shoes and socks next to the locker and stood up again, pulling his belt free of the loops. He coiled it up and settled it atop his locker where he’d find it easily enough tomorrow.

Quinn didn’t say anything. Silas couldn’t bring himself to look up and meet his gaze; he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and shorts, shimming the soiled cloth down his hips and thighs, letting it pool around his ankles so he could step free. The only thing he still wore were his tags; he and Quinn matched now, not a stitch of cloth between them and only four bits of metal and two chains.

It was terrible to admit that he’d feel a lot more comfortable with this fact if the lights were off. But Quinn would probably come off the bed to stop him if he went for them---

Quinn was coming off the bed. Silas glanced up at the sound of the mattress shifting, even made it as far as opening his mouth to protest before the words were cut off at the root and died.

“God, you’re so _fucking_ beautiful.”

Silas had heard a lot of praise under the covers, in the dark. _These_ words were like a lance to a wound, catching him flat-footed and arrowing an injury he hadn’t been aware he’d had. He could feel a fresh wave of heat crawl up his throat, blue eyes riveted on Quinn in surprise.

He didn’t _think_ Quinn had a concussion...

“You shouldn’t-- you’re going to undo all my hard work,” which was all he could manage to put into words, right now.  He knew he wasn’t attractive. He never had been, really, though God knew Quinn had _probably_ ruined tons of panties just by flashing a girl a smile. Some men, too. He wasn’t going to admit that a smile alone had been his undoing, but fuck if it hadn’t done a damned lot of it, and Quinn was always damned smiles, wasn’t he, warm and infectious.

Like now. He was smiling at him now, moving gingerly but well enough, probably driven by pure stubbornness. That he could convince his legs to hold his weight at all frustrated Silas just a bit. Clearly he was out of practice.

Quinn made his way around to him and it literally took all of his willpower not to step back, to try to distance himself from the newfound intimidating figure that he called _angel_ in the depths of the dark, where absolutely no one and not a soul could overhear him. It was only Quinn, and Silas had several inches on him, so there was no reason to be spooked, but he was. Quinn needed glasses, clearly, but over _there_ he thought Silas was beautiful. What if he didn’t think so when he got close? What if he changed his mind?

What if Quinn honestly did have a concussion?

He had no idea. Maybe he didn’t really want to. He kind of wanted to just.. consider the feeling of _hopeful maybe_ that had sparked when Quinn had used the words _you_ and _beautiful_ in the same sentence. Except now Quinn was in front of him and touching his face, his fingers trembling against his skin, and Silas seriously had no idea how he had managed to cross the gap so quick, no matter how short it had been.

“Quinn--?”

Quinn stood up on his toes and shut him up in the very best way, his sweet lips against Silas’ own. He swallowed back his words immediately, caught off guard. He probably shouldn’t have been, it _was_ Quinn, but he still was.

After a few heartbeats of _perfection_ , drizzling less need and more with a thousand of unvoiced promises, Quinn drew away to murmur against his skin words that he couldn’t understand. Some sort of prayer, maybe? Then he drew away entirely and Silas lost himself for a moment, looking at him, because Quinn’s expression was so earnest, so full of certainty, that he had difficulty thinking about anything else but the way he looked.

There was a kaleidoscope of unspoken emotions in his eyes. The young man had difficulty following them, picking out just which emotions they were, applying names to the ones he did see. There was… gratitude in waves, and he could feel that too in the careful way he cradled his jaw. So much warmth and heat, which he had tasted on Quinn’s tongue as it coaxed his own into a slow dance, sweet and cloying like honey.

He didn’t remember someone ever looking up at him like this. He wanted to close his eyes and lean into his touch, but he didn’t truly dare, because he wanted to stay lost in the sheer trust he saw forever. If he closed his eyes, all the care might vanish like a dream, and he..

He wanted to believe this was all honest. That Quinn was serious, that he really did want something real, because Silas was in too deep already and he needed to believe that. He needed it more than air.

“ _Thank you_.”

“Quinn..?”

Quinn caught his lips again in a slow, soft kiss, all sweet and gentle. Obediently, Silas shut up, hoping Quinn would deepen the kiss, but all he did was run his tongue over the soft skin of his lips, a teasing promise of maybe something more, and when _Silas_ tried to deepen it, Quinn drew away. He released his face to run his hands over his cheeks, down the neck, over the shoulders-- down his arms as he stepped back, pistol-calloused hands finding his own, settling palm to palm.

“Come lay with me,” he encouraged. After that kiss, Silas thought it something less than a request as opposed to an order, and all he could do was step after him, so that was what he did.

He thought Quinn was going to sit down, but he turned instead, in an obvious motion that meant he was waiting for _Silas_ to sit. For a long moment, the idea of it didn’t really add up, but Quinn reached up to his shoulders and nudged him back. He had to sit down, or risk toppling over the bed entirely, but Quinn didn’t stop. He pushed him down again, wordlessly urging him to lay down; Silas reached up to grab at Quinn’s hips and pull him with, and found his lover _lover, yes, lover_ came with him.

“Hm. Now I’m bandaged _and_ in bed. Do you have any more excuses?”

Silas blinked up at him, shifting his arms to loop them loosely around Quinn’s waist. Aside from his notorious lack of _pants_ \-- and thereby the barrier that consistently reminded him of good behavior-- and the fact that the lights were on… He really didn’t.

 _I want to see you_. God, he couldn’t really mean it, could he? Just the thought of it caused his skin to flush again, and Quinn’s green hues danced in amusement. He had no idea how to read them, what it was that pleased him so much. But what mattered was that Quinn looked happy, expressions dancing openly across his face, even if they were too quick or too bold for Silas to grasp them. He’d done something right, somewhere, somehow.

“I.. we should sleep. It’s late.”

“I’m not tired,” he promised, leaning down to smother Silas’ response of _that’s a lie_ before he could do more than open his mouth. Quinn had to be just as tired as he was, if he wasn’t _more_ exhausted. Stress had literally the best capacity to eat away energy, and he knew which one of them had suffered the most of that today. He drew away as Silas’ lungs started to protest, nipping on the contours of his neck, down his shoulder. Every touch of his teeth made it difficult for him to remember how to breathe. “And I want to love on you.”

There was that word. It was tiny, only four letters long, but it was so big in the scope of things, encompassing so much. Emotions, actions, memories; so much hinged on it, and hearing it on Quinn’s tongue sent a dual shock through his blood. _I want_ was a pair of words he understood; applying _love_ to them was new and strange, and as much as he longed to hear it again, wringe it from his mouth, it scared him nearly as much. Silas knew the word the same was his parents did; great and all-encompassing, worth the weight of nations.

He’d never met anyone else who knew it the same way. He didn’t know if other people _could_.

Hearing it did amazing things to him, more the hope of _I wonder_ than any great affection for the letters. God, he probably didn’t know them that way. But if Quinn really wanted him, if he was serious, then it didn’t matter if they had the same verdict of definition. Lots of things got lost in translation all the time.

Quinn reached the junction of his shoulder where it anchored his collar and appeared to take a page out of Silas’ book-- and he wasn’t terribly upset about that, really, because the clavicle was a fragile thing and Quinn’s teeth were just hard enough to make a pale mark, teasing the expanse of nerves. It was _significantly_ easier to focus on than the almost teasing-lightness of his fingers over Silas’ ribs, or the desperate _want_ he knew Quinn must be egging for.

They were never going to get to sleep. He should have put pants on again.

That wasn’t something he was going to be able to do though, because Quinn was pressing gentle kisses against his flesh, interspersing them with his teeth at intervals just random enough to set his nerves on fire. Silas hesitated to pull him down against him; the stitch-strips he’d lain to pull Quinn’s skin together were rough under his arms, a pointed reminder to _be gentle_ , to take care and let Quinn lead, not to rush, even though he desperately wanted to drag Quinn down flush against him.

His lover pressed his lips to the hollow of his collar and stopped, pulling his lips away and raising his head to look Silas in the eyes.

His lover _mm,_ he could get _used_ to that, yes, _absolutely_.

God, he was such a greedy fuck. It was entirely possible this was a one-off thing, born from Quinn’s need for gentle touches, the urge to suffuse want and desire under his skin. It was possible that when morning came, Quinn would make his way out of Silas’ door and.. request a transfer or report him or never speak to him again. His heart squeezed at the thought; that would be agony, it would _hurt_ in ways he wouldn’t be able to handle…

He would survive it, if it happened. There was nothing in the world that he _couldn’t_ , but it wouldn’t be easy. Letting Quinn go after having a taste of him would be hard, but if that was what Quinn wanted…

Quinn was watching him though. Silas hoped his face wasn’t so expressive to show all his thoughts, that the other soldier couldn’t read him like a book, but he had a feeling his luck wasn’t holding out, because Quinn smiled at him, all soft and sweet and so full of promise.

“Can you hold still for me? There’s something.. there’s something I want to do.”

“We’re not going to sleep tonight at all, are we?”

“Probably not. I told you, I’m not tired.”

“You could say that a dozen times, angel, I’m never going to believe it.”

Quinn’s eyebrows climbed high. For a moment, Silas didn’t understand why-- and then his brain caught up with his mouth, and an embarrassed crimson climbed up his throat. He _hadn’t_ , but no, the other’s lips were twisting into a self-satisfied, positively _sinful_ smile, Silas wanted to melt into the ground.

“Angel?”

Oh god. Even in the dark safety of his own quarters, he’d never been so safe as to say it out loud. He never spoke when alone here in his room. It was entirely Quinn’s fault.

“I don’t suppose you can pretend I didn’t say that…”

“You’re _amazing_ ,” Quinn informed him, sliding up his frame to catch Silas’ embarrassed smile. The friction over his skin-- and other interested portions of his anatomy-- did amazing, glorious things. He didn’t bother to smother his moan, couldn’t keep from dropping his head back onto the pillow. He kissed at the corner of his lips, light and teasing, and Silas loved and hated him all at once, the massive tease. “I can be an angel. What would that make you, a handsome devil?”

“Tortured,” Silas lamented, shifting his grip around Quinn’s waist. He drew one hand up along his spine, careful not to stray too far to the side, to only meet whole skin. He wished the other had hair he could card, but the military had regulations, with regulation haircuts, and he didn’t, so he cupped his palm over the back of his head to try to get him to still long enough to _kiss him_ , because Quinn was going to drive him mad.

The other he dropped down to sweep over the perfect, glorious ass he’d been watching for months, bared to the world and-- for the moment, at least-- all his to enjoy. He kneaded at his flesh, firm but yielding, downright sublime. Quinn jumped a bit, but he moaned into Sil’s mouth, so he figured it must have been the right thing to do in the situation.

After a moment, he ran the one from the base of Quinn’s skull down to join its brother. He broke the kiss to huff at him, nipping at Silas’ lower lip in reproach, but if there wasn’t movement soon Silas was going to die of cockblock and this was literally the only thing he could do to stop himself. He behaved _terribly_ without pants, god help him.

“ _Devil_ suits you better,” Quinn admitted, shifting a bit. He sat up, straddling him, and damn it, Silas wished he could have him. He wished he had the time tonight to spend a lifetime with him in the span of a few hours, that the universe would align just right to let them have forever right here.

He also wished Quinn would scoot down a little so he was actually _touching_ his most sensitive parts, but Quinn was a tease that would make even the pope beg and he’d done it deliberately, Silas was sure.

Though he didn’t have a lot of time to lament about the lack of contact, because Quinn hadn’t stopped moving. He ran calloused fingers up his forearms, tracing the curves of his shoulders in tandem that he wouldn’t be able to believe wasn’t a learned behavior of some sort, the way they caught every dip and edge on his body. He brought them down to fan over his chest, fingers deliberately flicking over his nipples-- and yes, Quinn was going to destroy him, this man would be his _undoing_.

“Like that~?”

“ _Quinn_ …”

Quinn hummed at him, repeating the motion. Silas tried not to whine too obviously. “I told you I wanted to see you,” he reminded, running blunt nails over his sensitive flesh. He tweaked one of the pearls and Sil-- it wasn’t a whine, and it wasn’t a moan, it was just a sound, low and needy. The other soldier’s smile took on something of a fae look when he heard it, something part teasing, part wickedness. God, he loved the expression already.

He liked it a little less when Quinn took his sounds as an excuse to tease him, to trace his digits ghost-light over his chest, in the valleys between the ribs, hunting for quarters of skin to wring soft panting from his lips, because Quinn was an absolute wretch, but his fingers kept coming back. Silas had a hard time trying to remember how long had passed; minutes, hours? Probably just seconds, but it was sweet torture, staring up into perfect green orbs while trying to behave.

It was embarrassing to be examined so thoroughly. He knew he was no rousing beauty, and he wasn’t exactly flawless, either. It was all the more apparent every time calloused fingers ran over old scars, most of them born from a time when he’d been a little less intelligent in… _not_ picking his fights, or when he’d been fool enough to assume his opponents were armed just as he was, which he usually wasn’t.

He touched lightly at the lacerations from Carslile’s knife, the scab a bed where a new scar would live in a week or so. They stung without adrenaline to ride him high, but not as much as they would have if lust wasn’t suffused so thick in his veins. He brushed at the dried blood, scraping it clean with his fingernails, and his expression was something Silas couldn’t place, couldn’t pin down; want and gratitude and sorrow and something else he hesitated to name, just in case he was _wrong_.

He thought Quinn said something, but his blood was pounding in his ears and he missed it. It was probably him teasing him again, but he didn’t dwell on it overly much, because Quinn dipped for another kiss, palms resting on his floating ribs, and then he slid _back_. Silas’ breath caught in his throat as he stopped moving, resting on his hips, his erection trapped in the cleft of Quinn’s glorious ass. For several heartbeats, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think, and when Quinn’s mouth left his own to trace down his centerline, he couldn’t breathe.

Quinn rumbled against his skin, sounding all sorts of amused, and Silas actually whimpered. Fuck, why did he have to behave again? He wanted him, he was _right here_ \-- “ _Quinn_..!”

“Soon,” because apparently Quinn’s agenda was to torture him, or maybe both of them, because _Quinn_ ’s desire was trapped between them and Silas’ brain wasn’t so blown that he couldn’t tell how much he wanted release too.

If he could just open his mouth, say those words-- but he couldn’t, no, damn it, he had to behave, pants or no pants. Luckily Quinn decided to slide further down, pulling himself free of Silas’ fingers and letting him have back threads of his self-control, though the friction alone threatened to sever them. He didn’t have much to do with his hands; they found their way to his shoulders without much thought of his own, just in time to grab hold of the other man’s body as he dipped his head, slipping out his tongue to trace a warm, wet outline over sensitive flesh.

He could die tonight and be happy for it, the world set to rights. Even if Quinn _was_ going to kill him with lust, humming low in his throat and _teasing_ him, the _rake_ . He dropped down to close his mouth over flesh, letting his hands drop from Silas’ sides to slide further down, massaging his thighs. Silas squeezed at his shoulders, trying to remember he had to _behave_ , trying to swallow down the notes of satisfaction he seemed determined to wring from his throat.

At least he hadn’t gone back to his throat. Most of the blood in his body had already gone back to his dick, and he couldn’t say that it was entirely Quinn’s fault. Even though it was mostly Quinn’s fault. He scrambled for conscious, coherent thought, scraping for words. Quinn nipped at him and he arched, desperate and dying for something _more--_ “Quinn, I, we need, _Quinn_ , we need _rest_ \--”

“Later,” Quinn murmured against his skin, and Silas had a sudden, desperate want to ruin him for other people, so that he could keep him forever. To make love to him here and now, to drizzle him in unprecedented worship, so that he’d know forever how much Silas needed him. It would be wrong though, after what had happened, with so little time between the two of them; Carslile had ruined all the first times he had dreamed of, and there would never be a bed of roses for them, they were _soldiers_. “We can rest later.”

 _Okay,_ he thought dizzily, wishing that Quinn wasn’t straddling _him_ so that he could wrap his legs around him, urge him without words, explain it in a way bodies were meant to be understood. He dropped his head back against the pillow, not even seeing the ceiling above them. There were words, somewhere; he knew how to use words, he did.

“ _Fuck me_.”

Quinn froze against him, tongue stilling, chest warm and flush against his torso. He actually whined in protest, not caring to hide it.

For a moment though, his brain panicked. They’d known each other for months, but they’d only kissed _once_ . This was their _second encounter_ . He had gone _crazy_. Someone needed to sign his walking papers already, give him a Section Eight.

His body didn’t overly care much of what his brain thought, though.

“What?” Quinn’s voice was as breathless as his own, weakened, he guessed, by shock or disbelief or something else that made Quinn perfect and made Silas groan, because _God_ , was Quinn going to make him beg?

He would. He wasn’t too proud for it, not before Quinn. “ _Please_ ?” His body ached and his heart _wanted_ , and if he was setting himself up to be burned at least it would be thorough. He wondered if he could shift enough to dislodge him, get a leg free-- no, damn it, he had to behave, Quinn was injured--

Quinn was injured and he’d asked--

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck--

“Okay.”

\--what.

Silas lifted his head to look at him, not sure he'd heard him correctly. Surely Quinn wasn't seriously considering it, not as injured as he was. Silas didn't even have painkillers to make it easier for him, and endorphins only dulled so much. He would be in agony if he did, maybe pull some stitches; god, but he didn't want him to.

Quinn looked... a touch unsure, which did terrible things to his nerves. He pried a hand loose from his shoulder, reaching up to cup his jaw instead. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you don't have to. You really... really shouldn't, with your back like it is."

"It doesn't hurt," Quinn frowned at him, green eyes bright and amazing. He could see determination blooming in them, with every second that trickled by. And he sounded like he believed those words, too. Silas wished he could.

"It will. It will hurt like the blazes. I don't even have anything to give you for it."

"It doesn't hurt," Quinn repeated, surer. Sure enough to nix every further protest Silas could muster at the moment, even though he opened his mouth to try. "And I want to. If you'll let me? I just.. I've never, ah.."

Of course he hadn't. Silas hadn't expected him to either. Not with the way he'd reacted to the blowjob, although he had gotten his second wind significantly sooner than Silas had liked, considering the intent had been to keep him bedded so he could recover. But it had made him feel better, which was something of a success all on it's own.

Heady want was a quiet thing in the back of his mind for a moment, throttled down into first gear with his flare of panic and self-depreciation, but it was on the brink and he knew it would come back with little trouble. Instead he stared up at Quinn and knew he was already lost.

“It’s okay. We'll work through this together. Here, in the drawer.." Silas couldn't look away from him, but he forced himself to let go of him, reaching blind for the bedside cabinet. Quinn reached out and swatted his hand, leaning over him to get to the drawer himself. He watched the way his muscles moved, searched for hints of pain that might come from the movement.

He pulled the drawer and then stopped, looking down at Silas with a mystified expression on his face. "Really?"

Silas smiled back, a little impish. "The quartermaster likes me. I get slipped extra in the ration packs."

"Sil," Quinn's voice was a little exasperated. "This drawer is full of condoms. Like, totally full of condoms."

"Not entirely. I've got a jar of petroleum jelly in there. Somewhere." He shrugged a little, feeling the embarrassment crawl back into his nerves again and make a nest in his belly. "I've been here seven months, and I don't have a use for them except impromptu silencers or water-proofing something." Which he couldn't even do, since the base commander was trying to find him doing anything wrong at all, and misuse of supplies was pretty much his _modus operationis_. He wasn't going to hand himself to the man on a silver platter if he could help it, thanks. "I suppose I could slip them to some of the other trainees, but.."

"But?" Quinn prompted.

Silas considered the best way to phrase it. "...but. When I get deployed, they're going to be scarce as hell. Like cigarettes. Rubbers become currency in war zones. So I've been saving them up to take them with me."

"Weren't you going to use them?"

"No," he hadn't had sex with anybody in six years. Who the hell would he have used them with? It's not like they were required when he dealt with himself. "But I want to now. With you."

Quinn's expression made it all worth the embarrassment.

God, he desperately hoped Quinn wasn't setting him up in an elaborate trap. He would hang himself with all the rope the private was feeding him. Just... let it be real. _Please_ , let it be real.

Quinn pulled one of the squares out of the drawer, holding it up to consider it. He glanced down at Silas again, raising an eyebrow. "It's mint flavored."

"I like mint," he protested, which made Quinn shoot him that sinful smile of his. He fished the jar of petroleum jelly out too, rested it on the edge of the bed next to Silas' shoulder. "There are other flavors, if you don't like mint. Somewhere there are unflavored ones, I think."

"Mint's good," Quinn rested a hand against his chest, peering down at him through half-lidded eyes. He stroked it down, firm and deliberate, because apparently he wanted Silas to arch into him and he really, really couldn't disappoint. "Are you sure you want me to..? You don't want to?"

Why was he still talking? He didn't need to be talking. He reached up and pressed a hand to the back of his neck, dragging him down for a kiss to stop the words coming from his mouth, the hesitance he could hear shaking his voice. Silas didn't know what he could say or do that would reassure him any better than this. When he finally broke the kiss, lungs screaming-- and _why_ , exactly, did Quinn have better lung capacity than he did, how was that possible-- he pressed his lips against his cheek to whisper directly into his ear.

"Angel, I very much want you to do this. It's okay; you're not going to hurt me, and my pride's not that fragile." Quinn was leaned against him, with his thigh against his groin; Silas rocked his hips to prove how much he wanted it, wishing that it were more than the barest of real friction. He could feel Quinn's own desire against his belly, very much interested in events and not so much the words they were saying to each other. "But if you don't want to, we can wait. Sleep is something we should really be trying to get."

Quinn responded without answering, pulling away from his fingers to tear the condom open. Which was really answer enough, considering there was only one thing they wanted to _use_ the damned things for right now.

Silas watched him move, not even trying to be quietly appreciative of the fact that he could _move_ still, that injury hadn't laid him low. Quinn seemed to be under the impression that he needed to do all this himself, fumbling a bit with the condom wrapper, but he didn't protest when Silas reached out to plant both his hands on his hips in an effort to steady him.

He shifted back, sitting up on his knees, and Silas was treated with the glorious sight of _all_ him again. It had to be something of a sin to be so beautiful, so perfect; he was sure of it. Whatever he had done in a past life to warrant the pleasure, he had no idea, but it was probably something truly magnificent, because that was what Quinn _was_.

An angel from heaven, wrapped up in human guise. How lucky could he get?

He watched Quinn unroll the rubber over himself in a method that was unpracticed but earnest, determined, and decided that he'd get all the practice he could ever want doing it. They were never going to have time or chances to empty the drawer; he'd been here seven months, after all, and the quartermaster liked him, so he slipped him a lot that he probably shouldn’t. It was a _lot_ of condoms. The whole _base_ couldn't use them all.

But they could try. They could try to empty out a row of them, at least, a handful here in the space of a day. If they’re careful, and quiet, no one should think it at all strange for Silas to be locked up in his quarters. It was a pity that he didn’t have some MREs stored away in here though, the way he had bottles of water stashed. But tomorrow, perhaps--

He was a terrible human being. Terrible and needy and _selfish_ , and he.. was really going to worry about how to check his selfishness at the door tomorrow, he decided, because Quinn was fumbling with the lid of the jelly, all jittery nerves, and ~~Silas loved him~~ he was amazing. He let one hand leave Quinn’s hips to grab hold of the jar himself, holding it steady. If he had to wait too much longer, he was going to lose what was left of his manners, and he’d have to show himself out the door.

Quinn flicked a look down at him, and it was something Silas couldn’t decipher for a moment, but then it shifted to.. determination or satisfaction, maybe. Pleasure. The sight of it warmed his blood, drawing a flush of fresh blood to his skin. A small part of him despaired; on him, there was no way the blush hadn’t coated him from toes to hairline at this point.

Quinn just crooked him a smile though, and tossed the lid of the jar aside. His fingers fell over his own, molten warmth in his skin, and then he scooped out a liberal dollop and moved to put the jar _elsewhere_ . Silas wasn’t really sure where it went. On the table, maybe. Probably. But it didn’t matter, because Quinn was more important. He was shifting, moving back a bit, rearranging his knees to settle between Silas’ thighs; hopefully he didn’t look _too_ eager, because it wasn’t like he spread his legs for just anybody, it was only for Quinn, _only_ Quinn, and it wouldn’t have even occurred to him in a different situation.

James’ words from the fight earlier came back to him, and he fought to shove them back down and away. James didn’t know what he was talking about, and it wasn’t something he cared to educate him on. Who did who under the sheets was somewhat significantly less important than the fact that those two people had _something_ , had each other somehow.

He should have broken James’ arm, though, for being so damned _presumptuous_ , but James would have passed out on him. He’d needed answers, and Butch had had them, in the end, hadn’t he?

Quinn must have noticed something in his expression, because he dropped his clean hand to pet at his belly, soothing and reassuring at once. “You okay?”

“First time,” he admitted, dragging himself back to the present. He could break James’ arm later. It’d be less satisfying than breaking Carslile’s, for presuming to touch something that didn’t belong to him, but James was an easier target.

Trepidation creased Quinn’s brow. Silas would have sat up and kissed it away, except he remembered angles and positions and the general requirements to make this thing that he wanted _happen_ , so he hooked his legs around him instead and resisted the urge to throw the pillow off the bed entirely. This time, he was rewarded with a purely beautiful expression, and _maybe_ the color of Quinn’s own blush.

He smiled up at him, ran a thumb reassuringly over the other man’s hip. “It’s okay, angel. I’m not a porcelain doll, you’re not going to break me. The lube’s a precautionary only, we could probably even go without it.”

Probably not, actually. Silas had been entirely without for six years, and he had never.. given someone this part of himself before. The only person he would have, that he could have-- well, Toby had never been interested, and their relationship hadn’t been so unbalanced as his and Quinn’s was right now. As their relationship was going to continue to be, even inside this room.. but especially outside it. More than what Quinn deserved from him, after all the time Silas had been pining, was what wouldn’t be _abuse._

He might have been fantasizing about it for months, but being in a position of power over Quinn already raised his hackles. If anybody found out about this, slicing Carslile’s face with brass knuckles was going to seriously be the least of his problems. He’d--

Quinn leaned down to steal a kiss, screwing up Silas’ thought process as his hands drifted lower. It was a distraction, but the tactic was _effective_ ; he thought of nothing but Quinn’s mouth against his, one hand tangling with dark curls and the other sliding lower, until Silas felt a slicked finger against his muscles, and Quinn, the asshole, broke the kiss to _talk_.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?”

Hysterical giggles was not the way to go. Silas made a valiant effort not to, but it was a near thing. “Quinn, you _can’t_. Seriously, stop teasing me, it’s mean.”

In retrospect, absolutely the wrong choice of words, because Quinn was in the Army and being a teasing wretch was what the Army did best. His face lit up in absolute challenge as he settled in to work with his magic fingers. He untangled his legs from his back to give him unhindered access.

Silas had expected his first time to be different in a number of ways. He hadn’t expected it to be in the army at all, because of the rules and regulations involved, but he’d had a whole romantic ideal of it. Summer, probably. It would be awkward, definitely; because he remembered how difficult it had been with Toby, two young kids fumbling in the dark, and Silas hadn’t actually gotten _less_ shy about sex through the years. First times were… well, they were supposed to be like that, weren’t they? Awkward and less than perfect. Something they had to work towards.

But it would be worth it.

It was _still_ worth it, and there was a little bit of awkwardness, but Quinn needed only a little instruction for anything he put his mind to. He worked his finger in his carefully, mindful of his comfort, and it didn’t take long as long as Silas was afraid it might have. He was already comfortable with Quinn, and the adrenaline withdrawal made him practically boneless besides, so it was easy to relax, even though he _wanted_ , and anticipation was entirely counter-productive.

He dug his fingers into the bedding instead of trying to grab onto Quinn’s shoulders again, caught his gaze as he worked in a second finger, stretching him to accommodate. Quinn let him rock with him this time, but he watched him intently, and Silas loved him was so grateful to him for that, because it meant satisfaction was going to come to them both that much _sooner_.

Silas probably said a lot of things that did not quite manage to amount to words. Certainly he didn’t stay still; every time Quinn crooked his fingers it brought his back off the mattress and wrung a low keen out of his throat, shaking at his control like he meant to make him forget himself all over again.

If he kept it up, he probably _would_ , and Quinn seemed to be aware of that because he finally extricated his amazing, torturous fingers, shifting forward to rest something else in their place. He reached out and caught one of Silas’ hands, twining their fingers together in a gesture of support Silas was grateful for, and when he looked up into his green eyes, all he saw was warmth and affection looking back at him, holding his attention as he pressed forward.

It was slow, almost torturous in itself, but it was a sweet and easy pace that Quinn set for them. A small part of Silas wanted otherwise, but he knew better than to try to quicken it; Quinn had already gone above and beyond himself, even entertaining the thought. He was injured and he had every right to tell Silas to fuck off, but instead he just curled a hand around Silas’ thigh.

It took a minute to follow through with the encouraged action, curling his legs around his back; on one hand it was to take some of the effort off Quinn, but it had the magnificent bonus of letting him thrust deeper. It was an easy sort of lovemaking, the likes of which he’d never had, and it was forever going to be _Quinn_ , the perfect pace and the perfect impeccable person that he was, bringing him right up to the edge to ride along it. _Virgin_ his ass, Quinn knew what the hell he was doing, no way he didn’t--

Quinn shifted a bit, picking up the pace, so every thrust wrung a moan from his chest. Waves of pleasure coursed through him. It wasn’t perfect, exactly; but when Quinn shoved him over the cliff, it was _Quinn’s_ name on his tongue, only Quinn’s, and he got to cry it out loud into the crook of his shoulder, because Quinn had drawn him up close and followed him over the edge.

It took too much effort to drag his face out and give Quinn anything more than a chaste kiss. Quinn didn’t seem to mind it, reaching up to curl a hand around the back of his skull, pressing their foreheads together and just breathing, _existing_. Silas ran a hand lazily down the uninjured size of his partner’s back, closing his eyes to soak up everything in this one moment.

In the silence, over the beat of his own heart, he could hear the sound of Quinn’s breathless voice against his lips.

“....you.. love you.. love you..”

Silas ~~loved him so much~~ was never going to be able to let him go.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe Quinn was so high on endorphins he would say practically anything that came to mind. People said all sorts of things between the sheets. Toby had said _so much_ in the cover of darkness; after the break-up, Silas had realized it couldn’t always be trusted.

But he wanted it to be true. Even if Quinn didn’t mean it the way he knew the emotion to be, even if he was setting himself up for heartbreak, he wanted to believe Quinn meant it.

He couldn’t say the words back to him. But he could curl his arm around his back to pull him close, catch the corner of his mouth in a chaste kiss, his lips still moving through his mantra. It was a sweet promise, that litany. It loosened some of the knotted fears that rested in the depths of his mind, pushed back to the very eddies by the afterglow, but feeling them come loose helped. There was a reason people preferred the comforting lie as opposed to the uncomfortable truth, and he was willing to believe it if he got to have him for at least a little while.

Perfection wouldn’t happen into his lap. But maybe a little piece of Heaven could?

_Let it be real. God, please, let it be real._

Eventually what little strength Quinn seemed to have left him and he slipped free from him, crawling  up to lay down on top of him. He heard more than saw him drop the condom into a wastebasket near the bed, and Silas was glad he had enough sense to find the garbage. He reached up and curled his arms around the younger man's waist, more than willing to let him lay there, soaking up the feel of his weight pressing him back into the mattress. There was a sort of security in it; and what was better, their position gave Quinn a clear escape, so he wouldn't-- _couldn't--_ feel trapped.

If they fell asleep right here... He could go for it.

“..you tired yet?"

Quinn squeezed his fingers. Silas had nearly forgotten they were still holding hands. "No."

"I am," he murmured, taking a good long look at the back of his eyelids. "That was amazing though. Think we're going to have to do it again sometime, if you want."

"..yeah?"

"..yes. Sleep with me? You're safe. I'm not going to let you go."

Silas thought he heard Quinn give him an affirmative sound, but he wasn't sure, because sweet satisfaction pulled him down into a cozy slumber, down into the depths of the dark.

He slept easy. It had been a long time since he had been in bed with anyone, but he had always managed to sleep easier when a warm body was with him, and Quinn _was_ warm, a comfortable weight atop him, so close he could feel his heartbeat, skin to skin, held in the loop of his arms.

It was nice, to be wanted. To want something, _someone,_ again.

If he could stay this way forever...

His bed partner jerked against him, the motion sharp enough to rattle his slumber a bit. He thought Quinn must have kicked himself awake, and the thought was a sweet lull, but then he jerked like a live-wire in his arms--

"Get off of me!"

The words were a blow to the heart of him; a knife in his chest. He released the other's waist so quickly he rapped his knuckles hard against the drawers next to the bed, every nerve on fire with the sudden flood of adrenaline and heartbreak at the pure _hate_ in Quinn's voice.

God, what had he done? _What had he done?_ He should have bandaged him and left, he was so fucking selfish, he should never have let himself given in. Of _course_ Quinn hated him, of course he didn't want him-- he couldn't want him, after what Carslile had done in his name, after he’d arrived too late to stop it, and Silas did not blame him for it.

He scrambled a bit, trying to push himself out from underneath Quinn altogether, feeling his lungs constrict too-tight in his chest. "Fuck, Quinn, Quinn, I'm sorry--"

He writhed against him, wounded and furious, but Quinn's eyes were still closed.

Quinn was not awake.

It was a _nightmare._

He swore lowly at the same time Quinn all but cried the same word to the mountains, his voice ragged with an anger Silas did not understand. He'd was trying to get his hands and knees up underneath him, but his injuries must have caught up with him, because he wavered and fell. Silas lurched to wrap his arms around him again before he threw himself entirely off the bunk, tired mind trying, scrambling, to catch up.

"Carslile, no! Get off of me!"

Carslile. His nightmare was of Carslile-- was of what had happened. Carslile had crawled into the safety of his mind and was still attacking him, but this time, Quinn couldn’t fight back against him.

He was going to give Carslile a pair of appropriately-sized concrete boots and _shove him off the nearest pier._

"No!"

The fuck he wouldn't. Carslile would die and it would be fittingly poetic, Silas would let him claw for breath as he sank into the depths, and he would do it with a smile--

"Silas!" It was a scream, full of pain and grief, a desperation that lanced through his fury like a scalpel and narrowed him back to the world where Quinn was _right here._ But it was just the one, because his voice dropped to a strangled, broken whimper, and dealing with Carslile was just going to have to _wait._ "Silas, please..."

"I'm here, Quinn, I'm here," he promised, reaching out to take hold of Quinn's face gently. The younger soldier's frame shuddered against him, still caught in the hazards and snares of his own mind, down where words could not reach him properly. But if he were with Carslile, there, then Silas knew how to draw him free.

He pressed a chaste kiss against his mouth, soft and sweet, gentle, breathing down Quinn's next words. Then he settled his lips against Quinn's own and swallowed down his cries, praying and hoping the whole time.

It wasn’t a deep kiss. Silas kept his tongue in his own mouth almost the entire time, only letting it snake out to brush at his soft skin, layering soft, sweet memories into his subconsciousness to change the tune of his dreams, petting him with careful touches over his sides. He found one of Quinn’s clenched fists and wormed his fingers into it, settled them between his own like they had been tangled together last night.

He didn’t have a lot of experience with nightmares, himself. He knew it helped if the dream changed, if someone was there to provide comfort somehow. He _hoped_ …

It took a while. Much longer than Silas liked, but eventually it did seem to work. Quinn's quaking slowly stilled, and his lips began to move against Silas' own like he was attempting to return them. He kept his kisses light, if not chaste, soft and sweet and full of promise. Quinn's calls of his name gradually lost the grief and agony that had been backing them, and he stopped struggling in his arms, leaning against him for support. He had to stop kissing his face when his partner sagged against him, laying his head on his chest.

Never did he let go of his hand, although his grip did become progressively less bone-breaking.

"Silas..."

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head. "I'm here, Quinn, it's me, it's Silas." He'd reassure him as much as he needed to, until Quinn finally, finally woke up. "I've got you. You're safe."

The grip on his fingers tightened fractionally. The tightness of his muscles that Silas had spent so much time smoothing out returned, renewing underneath his fingertips. Then a sound broke out his chest that-- it was not a sob, but an explosion of air that carried so much hurt, Silas decided it was _worse._ "I can't-- please Sil-- he's _still here."_

Awake. He was awake now, at last, and Silas was going to rip out Carslile's spine and beat him to death with it.

"He's not," Silas disagreed, curling his arm tighter around Quinn's shoulders to reassure him. "He's not here, and he'll never touch you again."

"No-- still here, still _in_ me, Sil, get him _out, please!"_ Agony laced through Quinn's tone. His brain clicked through a checklist that was pretty desperately short.

"Are you.. are you sure? I don't want to hurt you, Quinn."

His fingers tightened around his. _"Please._ Wash him away, Sil..? Please?"

He couldn't say no. Not with Quinn begging him to remove the last vestiges of Carslile's touch. In the quiet light of this room, he found he couldn’t really deny Quinn anything-- he’d stripped in the _light_ , exposing all of himself and his insecurities to Quinn. And just as he had done that, he could do this; because it was Quinn who was asking. "Can you reach the drawer? I need the jar and a condom, I don't want to hurt you."

He made a quiet, broken sound as he moved to collect them, and Silas felt like a wretch for having asked. He should have gotten up and fetched them himself. He hadn’t forgotten what had happened, but he _had_ forgotten that he didn’t have anything to dull the pain. Quinn must have been in agony.

A testament to how much he wanted this, and how much he wanted to not feel Carslile, he guessed. Silas didn’t think he would have had the sense of mind to do much more than curl up and whimper, wounded sore, until he absolutely had to be out of bed Monday morning. Which only went to show just how much stronger than him Quinn really was, at the end of the day.

He came back and pressed the jar of petroleum jelly into his palm, and _just_ the jar. His fingers shook; god, but the younger man was all nerves, wasn’t he? Did he think he’d _deny_ him this? Did he believe Silas really had the strength of character to tell him _no?_

“Quinn?”

“I-- sorry, can’t stop.”

He could believe that. Nightmares did wretched things to the brain, and the stronger and more focused Quinn tried to be, likely the worse they were going to get, his shakes. Still.. he was sure he’d heard him ask for both. And he was just as sure Quinn had deliberately forgone a rubber entirely. Blue eyes searched his face, hunting for affirmation in his expression. It made _sense,_ but.. “..are you sure?”

Something fragile cracked. A little bit of pride, maybe, Silas didn’t know. He hated himself for breaking it. "Please, I need you. He didn't... I mean... Sil... please?"

Wash him away, skin to skin. Silas could do that. For Quinn.

~~He could do that for himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to do that anyway.~~

He swallowed and reluctantly extracted his fingers from Quinn’s grasping digits. His hand moved to grasp at his wrist instead, holding on tight as the young officer-in-training removed the cap and let it drop on the pillow next to his head. It had been years since he’d had to pull off anything resembling their current position, but it was the best one-- the one that would give Quinn the most control, the one that wouldn’t let him feel trapped at all.

The one that would let Silas feel like they were equals making love, instead of a superior officer abusing his position.

He covered his fingers liberally, coated thick with extra jelly so he wouldn’t have to pick the container back up again, and then he put it aside. Quinn re-laced their fingers the moment that he could, and he let out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

That Quinn wanted to hold his hand…

It took a little bit of finagling because of it, but after a few heartbeats Silas was kissing him and working a finger into the abused depths of his body at the same time. He hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t want to hurt him, and he would avoid all discomfort if he could, but he couldn’t. Quinn was taut atop him, all nerves and desperation, and the tight ring of muscles reflected that. Even kissing him did not manage to be enough to alleviate it, the soft and sweet things he’d been delivering through his nightmare still the ones he wanted the most, if not the ones that _Quinn_ seemed to want.

Quinn wanted Carslile washed away, and he wanted it yesterday, which was something that Silas couldn’t-- wouldn’t-- do to him. He would just have to wait while he stretched him, just have to suffer through the gentleness of his fingers first. No amount of skillful fingers or years of practice was going to make it go any faster.

"Sil, please."

He had heard that patience was a virtue, but honestly, Silas could understand why Quinn was running low on it. He might have caved for this last night, if he hadn't been so caught up in the other's skilled fingers and warm, open kisses, the want he had sparked in him, bare skin to skin. He'd ran away with his brain last night, until Silas had forgotten himself, and only _wanted_ Quinn and everything Quinn could offer.

But this really should have been something he had thought about, at least peripherally. He had told him that he would erase Carslile from him, and then he had entirely forgotten about _this_ in wake of his own desires. Quinn had every reason to be sore at him, and after a night of rest, Silas had no reason at all to deny him what he wanted.

He worked in another finger carefully, even as Quinn grabbed at his shoulders, rocking in time with his almost workmanship of his body. It was a slow pace; he seemed to have bent to the idea that Silas was not going to give him what he was after until he was physically ready, or maybe the fact that it _was_ slow going was some sort of catharsis, starkly and agonizingly different from what must have been applied the night before, if there had been any foreplay at all.

Silas had never been under Carslile's affections. But the man didn't do things by half measures, and he didn't do _nice._

"Sil, I--" Quinn moaned quietly, his words snapping off as he dropped his head a bit to gasp in his ear. The idea of leaving him breathless was a bolster to his pride in no small way, tantalizing and arousing and absolutely _perfect._ As if he hadn't been hard _before,_ but the man was nothing if not tempting... He wasn't going to be able to hold out too much longer, but he could hold out long enough. "I _need_ you, please, Sil."

No. He really couldn't. Not with Quinn begging like that.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, pulling his fingers free. Quinn squirmed against him, needy and wanting, instantly sliding himself down his body until the curve of his cheeks found Silas' arousal. He groaned and had to grab hold of his hips-- but once he did, he wasn't sure why he had. Security, maybe? Guidance? He couldn't be sure. Quinn was already pushing himself up on his knees, and for a wild moment Silas panicked that he'd rush himself to get it over with. "Go slow, I didn't.. Just go slow, okay? There's no rush. _We're_ in no rush."

Quinn's muscles were tense under his fingers, but he nodded. He pulled himself to sit up a bit further, steal reassuring kisses from the lips of his sweetheart. He let the younger man rock himself up onto his knees, blunted nails digging into Silas' shoulders, and then he had to release a hip to guide himself, until the tip of his prick settled against his entrance.

Quinn's whole body shook as he lowered his hips, enveloping Silas inside his body with a slowness that was obviously a torture for them both. Still, this wasn’t like ripping off a bandaid, where doing it quick would see the pain over and done with; it had to be done slow, and _right._ He grabbed his hips again, forcing himself to stay as still as he could; god, but Quinn was tight, he should have waited--

His lover settled in his lap and stilled, breathing in uneven gasps that were nearly hidden in Silas' own. Or maybe they were Silas'. He couldn't be sure.

He had to remember to keep breathing, and because he was focusing on that, it took him a moment to realize he was still holding onto Quinn's hips harder than he probably should be.

But it was.. it was..

He didn't have words for how it felt, or how he felt. Quinn had placed a lot of trust and faith in him with this, and the knowledge of it squeezed in his chest to knot into ~~love~~ something _else,_ crystallizing into the rampant desire for it to be _perfect_ for him-- and the chasing fear that it wouldn't be. He could only guess at the best way to remake Quinn's experiences thus far; he could only give him himself and the power to do with it what he would, because _surely_ Quinn knew himself better than Silas could...

He was lying to himself. He could give him more. Just the knowledge that it was him might not be enough; but maybe... Quinn had responded to his words, and he seemed to think there was something perfect on his lips-- and Silas could give him that.

He brought a hand up to cradle the back of his skull, shifting, careful, until he could press their foreheads together, the way Quinn had done last night. Breathing was... easier, now, but not by much; he had never done anything quite like this, the same way he had never bottomed for anyone before, and the knowledge of just how much he _trusted_ Quinn caught and held him the same way Quinn's body did.

He hadn't thought he'd ever trust someone this much ever again.. ~~He hadn't thought he'd ever love someone again.~~

"You know," he started at length, letting his lips twitch into a smile. His words trembled a bit, unsteady, heady with want and the very great wish to _move._ Not yet, though, not yet, not until _Quinn_ was _ready._ "This is not how I dreamed our first time."

Thank god Quinn didn't laugh. He didn't know if he could have survived it if he had. His voice was just as strained though, and Silas thrilled in the knowledge that it was because of him, because of what they were doing. "No?"

"Hmm.. no. Call it idyllic, I was imagining roses and a bottle of wine."

The smaller soldier made a positively decadent sound, emerald-green eyes fluttering closed, like the idea of a proper first date was the most erotic thing he'd ever heard. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks, embarrassed and brimming with pride, and then his partner _moved,_ rolling his hips forward just so, and that sound was coming out of _Silas'_ mouth.

Quinn didn't let it linger in the air. He fit his lips over his own in a soft, perfect kiss, tongue diving in to plunder, and Silas let him. He let him because he was sliding his hand from Quinn's hip to curl it around his waist; it was either to pull himself closer to Quinn or to pull Quinn closer, and his brain was honestly not telling him which reason was the cause.

It didn't matter, because the shift caused his lover to groan into him, and he really, _really_ wanted to move. Every sound Quinn made, every movement, was shredding his control like wet paper.

It was almost sad to feel him retreat from the kiss. But if he was lucky, Quinn would give him all the kisses in the world.

"Tell me how you imagined it... please?"

Hnngh, yes, he could do that. "Before or after I realized you'd probably prefer whiskey?"

Quinn shifted again, breathing heavy; testing himself, maybe. Silas released his scalp and used the hand to prop himself up so he could stay right where he was without overly limiting his movement. "Both?"

"Ah-- before, I thought, I would pick you up and bring you home. I would have made you dinner; that's the proper thing to do, with someone you want. And there would have been candlelight and music."

"Sounds pretty romantic."

"I'm a sucker for romance," Silas agreed. Quinn's fingers squeezed his shoulders tighter, the only warning he was given, and he dug his own fingers into the sheets, hissing, as the younger man raised himself up. It was one agonizing inch at a time, and it took every ounce of himself to let Quinn do it, even as the loss of his warm body around the whole of him became more apparent with each moment. He finally stopped when only the head of his length remained inside, and by then, Quinn was panting hard into his neck and Silas-- wasn't much better at all.

 _Fuck._ "You are going to _ruin_ me, angel."

~~He already had. Silas was lost the moment he had laid eyes on him.~~

Quinn made a wanton little noise that told him he knew that already, that the few precious secrets he had held to himself were already certainties in his heart. He couldn't even bring himself to be disgruntled about it. They were secrets that Quinn had a right to. He _should_ know that he had gone and truly stolen away part of him before Silas had ever learned it was gone.

And that was a terrifying thought that he was not going to think about, because Quinn let out a low, pain-tipped whimper that twisted Silas' gut up in knots, and then he began the agonizing journey of lowering himself back down on him-- and it was all Silas could do to stay still for him. He breathed heavy, closing his eyes to focus on the feeling of Quinn enveloping him once more, reminding himself to behave, for Quinn, so perhaps he could _not_ behave later.

And later he would be glad for not having neighbors today, but for now he could only be glad he'd met this man, and that _Private Quinn_ wanted _him,_ because he sure as fuck did not deserve this lost angel.

He settled securely on his lap again, with Silas' buried deep inside him like a hidden treasure, and every fiber of his body burned and throbbed with barely-leashed need. If he could only just...

No. Behave. _Behave._

God but it was hard.

\--that huff of air out of Quinn's perfect, delectable mouth might have been a laugh. He decided to kiss it before it could evolve into anything larger, laughter or loss of oxygen, it didn't matter. ~~Any excuse to kiss Quinn was an excuse he was going to use.~~

Even better was that Quinn did not protest his face being removed from Silas' throat, and he permitted himself to be kissed for several long heartbeats. He considered that a boon, and he could have melted on the spot when he felt Quinn's lips twitch into a smile against his own. "Tell me about the rest?"

This time, Silas whined. How was he supposed to remember his dreams when the reality was better than the fantasy?

But he had started it, after all, and to not deliver what Quinn wanted was an absolute sin.

"It was a bigger bed," he managed, trying to find the thoughts Quinn had scattered when he'd started moving. He kind of wished _this_ were a bigger bed, so they could stretch out and lay next to each other when this were over, but that meant this had to be over, it had to end, and he damned sure did not want that. "Silk sheets. Green or purple. I imagined laying you down after dinner and a bit of wine, after so many kisses, and then making love to you until you were languid and so sated you couldn't fathom moving." It had been a sweet illusion, and any other time he would have been blushing horribly, but all his blood-flow was otherwise occupied and could not be spared for petty things like _embarrassment._ "And then I would gather you up into my arms," and he would wake up, right about then, alone in his bunk and utterly bereft of the warm body he had dreamed about, of the knowledge and security that someone had been there. But that had hardly stopped him from imagining where it would go from there. "And we'd just.. be, for a while. Until I could worship you again."

Quinn shivered against him, holding onto his shoulders like they were the only thing supporting him in the world. Like Silas was the only real thing in the world. He tightened his grip around his waist fractionally, willing his grasp to tell Quinn every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

"Promise me... someday we can have that?"

Silas swallowed hard, opening his eyes to face him, because he couldn't _not_ address the tremor in his voice, and he couldn't do that with his eyes closed, he couldn't--

Something unspeakable glittered in the depths of his eyes. Something Silas couldn't name. And it was that _something_ that made his throat constrict, choking off his words.

The truth was, he couldn't promise that. They were _soldiers,_ and the war... wasn't going very well, for America. Arlington grew with each passing day. China and it's Communist brethren gave no quarter, and there was a very real possibility that the last cover to lay over their bodies would be their nation's flag. If they ever made it home at all.

There was a chance that this fragile thing between them wouldn't have time to blossom. That maybe it couldn't.

~~It already had for him, and there were a set of very real odds that Quinn would break his heart.~~

~~God, please just let it be _real._ ~~

But looking at Quinn now, Silas could say none of that. All he could do was give his lover a tremulous smile, soft and shaky and daring to _hope,_ just maybe... "We will." And just like that, his mouth signed a check that he wasn't sure they would be able to keep. But it was worth it, to see the smile and relief that broke over Quinn's expression at his words.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, still smiling-- the abject joy on his face was fathomless, and he loved him so much it was the only emotion that ever needed to be worn by him. He felt it warm his own smile, sweet and securing, like an anchor in a storm, and then he leaned forward and sealed this agreement with a perfect kiss.

They were the right words. And Silas would brave Hell or high water to make it happen for him.

He was still chasing Quinn's tongue with his own when he felt him move again, rocking forward, and then he felt the other's muscles clench around him for a heartbeat before he was raising himself up again, and Silas was going to _die_ of pleasure, right here in the middle of Basic training.

And then Quinn stopped.

He broke the kiss with a gasp and a broken whimper, but Quinn was smiling at him, the coy _fiend,_ and Silas couldn't _think--_

 _"Fuck,_ Angel, please don't-- don't _stop_ **_now_ ** _."_

“Will you tell me more? Please?"

_"Anything."_

He wasn't sure what Quinn wanted him to say, exactly. There wasn't that much to tell, was there? He had admitted to the whole fantasy already, and having done so at all was embarrassing as hell...

Except that he really hadn't, had he. And of course the other would know that, and _want_ to know what he had not yet said..

Silas stared back at him, trying to remember how to form words, trying not to drown in the warmth that was pouring from his lover like a fountain. He held himself perfectly still, exhibiting the sheer stubbornness that seemed quintessential to his character; he would out-wait Silas, because it was Silas he held trapped inside him and Silas who could barely breathe.

For a virgin, he had the patience of a _saint._

Silas was screwed.

"You wore your uniform, in my dream. Dressed down to the nines, polished up like you were about to receive a medal. Just to come to dinner with me. It was really sweet." But it was a dream, so of course it would be. Dreams were the wishes of the heart, and his heart had been bleeding for Quinn since Carslile and his boys had first busted his lip.

Had it really been just a few months? Damn.

Quinn rewarded his additions by moving, dragging himself up further, and Silas had to swallow. He kept talking, just in case Quinn had decided that was how they were going to continue this.

He had started it. He had no one to blame but himself for this.

"After you showed up at my door, I still wanted that, but it wasn't the only one anymore." Quinn drew himself up to the end of his length and then rolled his hips, teasing and torturous. He took a breath and continued talking, though it was desperately hard to focus when he began his descent. He didn't stop on the trek; maybe.. _maybe_ it was time to do this thing properly. "Because when you climbed into my rack and went to bed, I wanted to follow you. I wanted to lay down next to you and take you into my arms, so you never slept alone, and in my dreams we stripped each other down until there was nothing between us but skin, and I peppered all the sweet bruises with kisses that turned into sweet, sharp need, we'd leave each other utterly exhausted for morning inspection the next day, every time."

That's how he had always known it was a dream, even when he didn't wake up. Silas leaned forward to keep talking, to whisper it directly into his ear. "You left my bed smelling like you, when you left it, and some nights I wouldn't help myself but wish it weren't a dream." He swallowed; if he kept talking.. he would admit that mere dreams had never managed to satisfy him the way that he wished they could. That some nights he would wake up and imagine Quinn above him like he was now, a real and solid weight against him-- made more real now by yielding flesh beneath his arm and the inferno of his body against him, around him. But some nights he would have to wake up and deal with the problem on his own.

Some nights, _most_ nights, he didn't make it to sleep first.

Quinn, bless him, wasn't going to make him say it. He sank all the way down again and the pleasure of it left him riding high, his voice all breathy, needy gasps that Silas had dreamed about so much.

“Fuck, yes, please. Right _now."_

It was not a question. Silas felt his body burn in answer anyway.

He stole one more heart-melting kiss, releasing Quinn's waist and the blankets both so he could settle his hands on his hips, urge him back up again. Quinn followed through with the motion, didn’t protest it, though that could have had something to do with the fact that his mouth was busy being invaded by Silas’ tongue. Who could say? Considering it was Quinn who’d _asked_ , though, and that he wasn’t resisting, he was willing to bet it was even the _expected_ response, to take ahold of him and find a pace.

He couldn't be sure what pace Quinn wanted, which one he would feel the best with. He knew which one his _body_ wanted, but an aching, greedy fuck was not at all appropriate for the situation. He wanted to make _love_ to him. This was their first time together, and he would have it memorably _him_ , so that his lover would always be able to remember it fondly, and.. if this did not last.. anyone who came after would have a long way to go to match it.

He was just petty enough to hope for that. To want that. Never to be replaced, to be washed away.

He couldn't see the future. He didn't know if this would be as big a thing for Quinn as it would for him; he hoped...

He stopped hoping, deciding to make it a reality instead. It was no hardship to find a slow, long pace, something that would last, something that wouldn't take much exertion from his partner, despite their position.

No amount of hormones or overabundance of lust was going to make him forget that the other man was _injured_ , had probably pulled some of the stitch-strips free, and that the cause was someone Silas was going to have to break in half, later, after he and Quinn were done and sated and-- maybe done again, later. But they did not have a place in the here and now-- he would not _let them_ have a part of this, this fragile thing he and Quinn were building together.

But he would make worth it the wait for Quinn, because Silas had been running away for months. He would figure out a way.

He broke the kiss to breathe, his attention torn between guiding Quinn and rising up to meet him, the feel of his own body sheathed inside him, the way Quinn looked in the light, damp with sweat and caught in the grips of pleasure.

He was doing most of the work in this position, Silas was not going to lie. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must be, how it pulled at sore muscles, but he wasn't ready to give it up yet. They would end up changing soon enough, to spare Quinn's back and thigh, and Silas wanted that but Quinn was...

"Beautiful."

That's what he was. Beautiful. Perfect. ~~Perfection was in his lap, right now.~~

The ~~angel of perfection~~ younger soldier surged forward to capture his lips like the word was a call for to punctuate their activities with a mind-blowing kiss, or perhaps like he could hardly stand for Silas to speak instead of _do._

He pulled away after a moment, leaving him hungry for more, chasing hot kisses along his cheek and back to his ear, closing his lips around his earlobe. Silas shivered, bringing their hips together a trifle harder than he meant to at the sensation-- and Quinn broke off his attentions to cry out, half-gasp, half-moan, blunted nails biting into his flesh. The sound drove a spike of fiery need into his body. He did it again, bolstered by the pure pleasure he could hear in Quinn's voice--

 _"Yes.."_ Oh, those were _words._ Clearly he needed to pick up the pace if Quinn could still speak-- "Make me yours, Silas. Please?"

Those words thrummed through his bones and tightened around his heart. _Make me yours._ Quinn wanted to be his, in the light, atop the sheets and straddling him, Quinn _wanted to be his._

He was dreaming. There was no way this was happening, it couldn't be real; he was dreaming, and he never wanted to wake up. Not now, not when he had Quinn right here, so warm and lifelike beneath his fingers.

But he knew that dreams did not go forever, and if he didn't get to finish this one-- if he didn't get to give Quinn what he _wanted, this time,_ he was afraid he wouldn't be able to meet his gaze in the waking world without shoving him against the nearest wall and kissing him senseless.

~~_God, don't let me wake up. Let this be real._ ~~

He thrust inside him once more, savoring the warmth of him, the weight of him on top and the grip he held him in. He would have this again, if he could. But later. After.

_Make me yours._

He lifted him up-- and pulled all the way out of him. The cool bite of the air where only Quinn's impossible warmth had been was an unwelcome intrusion into the moment, but it made him wonder... how much he was really dreaming, after all.

Quinn made a quiet sound in protest, especially as he pushed him to the side and slid out from underneath him. The laws of physics said their positions had to change, and Silas could not actually argue with the laws of physics. He nudged his lover down until he was laying back on the mattress, then twisted to settle above him, between powerful, gorgeous thighs that hooked around him immediately. Gun-calloused fingers cupped his jaw and urged him down into another kiss, the young man's upset vanishing in wake of comprehension.

The kiss was all desire and want, physical need backed by something that he couldn't comprehend, couldn't name. He wanted more of it, but what he needed-- what he wanted the most-- was Quinn. He had to break the kiss, move away enough so that Quinn couldn't draw him in again, and take a deep, quelling breath.

He had to think, just a little longer. His blue eyes searched the other's face intently. "Quinn.. You're sure this is what you want?"

 _You're sure this is okay,_ he wanted to ask, and did not. Quinn didn't seem like this was going to trigger anything. He _seemed_ fine. And, as far as he could tell, he was enjoying himself more than a little. Quinn's own desire was trapped between them, hard as an iron bar and positively dripping. And yet... where Quinn had needed his dreams, Silas needed his reassurance. And if he needed him to stop, he need to know _now,_ before they started again.

For a heartbeat, maybe two, Quinn didn't answer him. Silas wasn't sure if it was because his question was so out of place or not-- _obviously_ this was what he _wanted,_ proof enough of that was in his gaze, in his touch. Silas thought, though, _hoped_ that it was because he heard the question he couldn't ask.

He hated to remind him of what had happened at all. But he couldn't be equated to Carslile. He refused.

Quinn let a hand fall from his face, looking up at him, so warm and content something inside of Silas was going to break, looking down at him. It took him a moment to realize that he was reaching out to find his fingers, but when he did he brought it up to meet him, and Quinn curled his digits around his own in reassurance. _"Yes."_

God, what had he done? What did he do? He did not deserve this man, he had done nothing _to_ deserve him. How was it Quinn wanted _him,_ out of all the people in the world?

But like squeezing a trigger, the words were out; they were there, and Silas wasn't going to make him ask again. He leaned down to kiss him again, pouring all the gratitude and feeling he could into it, half-wondering if Quinn could taste his desperate desire for this to truly be reality. Wondering if he could taste the rest of the questions on his tongue.

It was a sweet distraction, but only for a moment.

Entering Quinn felt like returning where he belonged, a tantalizing, terrifying feeling that he couldn't shake and never wanted to lose. Quinn moaned against his mouth, all of him an angel tasting mortal pleasure, mortal sin, for first time. He felt like the Devil, letting him have it, stealing one of Heaven's away own for himself.

But that was what was happening. He made himself wait several heartbeats, buried inside the depths of his lover, feeling connected to him, whole. He thought he could have felt like this before, at some point in his life; but those didn't matter. What mattered now was that Quinn had done it. He had given him a part of his soul and slotted it into place, though he had never known the piece to be missing.

He broke the kiss and rocked back, pulling out so he could begin making love to him in earnest. He didn't want to drown out Quinn's sounds, any words or whimpers he could wring from him, he desperately wanted to hear them. He wanted to know how desperate he could leave him, how long Quinn would let him drag it out before he shattered. He wanted to know how long _he_ could last before he caved.

He had been celibate for six years, and last night had not been nearly enough. _Now_ wouldn't be enough, he would never be able to sate himself with Quinn.

He was nicotine and whiskey, and Silas was already addicted.

It was an easy pace, but not _slow,_ now, exactly. Each thrust and retreat was punctuated with another sound from Quinn, and each sound he rewarded with a sharper or faster movement, trying to find the pace and the angle that would drive them both to the brink. Quinn's fingers were hunting greedily against his skin, trying to pull him in, deeper, trying to commit him to memory.

“Silas…” His sounds twisted into words, which became his name, and then a litany. He dropped his head down to Quinn's shoulder, found a spot to rake his teeth along the muscles. He rocked against him, and his lover dropped his head back to give him better access, twisting his hips up. “Silas, please… please… please…”

 _Please._ Yes. Fuck, but, he didn't want to wait anymore.

With Quinn begging like that beneath him, he didn't think he could anyway.

He reclaimed his trapped fingers to let Quinn have his hands, just as much as he needed them. Then he dropped his hands down. One slid along his side to wrap around his hip, feeling the stitch strips beneath his palm. The skin felt heated and too-warm, but he literally could not tell if that was just from exertion or if something were more sinister.

He'd check it later. He'd press kisses to every wound and worship him properly, like he was supposed to, later.

But for now he let his other hand fall between them to curl around his lover's hard length, providing just enough extra friction that Quinn let out a broken sound and crooked his fingers, nails scratching across Silas' back. He could feel their path, the way they brought trails of raised, irritated skin. He didn't think they had broken through far, that they would bleed... but the feel of them was enough. Quinn marring his skin, arching in pleasure beneath him..

He thrust a few more times, fingers working Quinn's weeping member to draw him with-- and then he bit down on the bundle of muscles on his delicious, perfect shoulder to quiet himself, burying his prick deep into that hot cavity--

Muscles constricted tight around him, drawing him deeper, and Quinn's whole body jerked, orgasm gripping him hard and looping him up in the ride--

A blinding starburst stole his vision, and he moaned against sun-kissed skin. The world was quiet and distant and dim in the wake of orgasmic pleasure, and absolutely all he could taste or feel or hear was beneath him, his own cry a low, aching, perfect thing as proof of his lover's pleasure spilled in waves of thick ropes over them, splattering their chests and coating his fingers.

Quinn's body pulsed around him, aching for every drop, and Silas rocked into him so they could both chase the last vestiges of Heaven.

The exhaustion was a comfortable thing, settling into his bones and suffusing under his skin. His release had stolen much of his strength, and what little he had left he used to stay bowed over his partner instead of collapsing on him, a trickling in the back of his mind warning him against it. He slipped free and rested next to him instead, moving from between his thighs to curl on his side, tucked in close.

Military racks were never big enough for comfort, but there was just enough room that if he were careful, if he stayed on his side, he wouldn't fall off. Quinn took up the majority of the bed, sated and ravished.

Silas imagined him backed by silk sheets. Now, as in his dreams, he couldn't fathom what color they were-- but this time he didn't have to imagine how _satisfied_ Quinn must look in the aftermath. Panting, sweat-slicked, covered in liquid proof of their activities. It was quite the sight, and he wanted to remember it forever. He just wanted to _be,_ for a little while.

But he couldn't. Not yet. Because looking at him let Silas soak in the dark bruises on his skin, and the nagging feeling in the back of his mind bloomed into something else; a reminder of his wounds, and what had started the burning need between them.

He reached up carefully to trace fingertips over his flesh, smearing the spill more than he meant to as he laid his palm over the center of his chest.

His heart thudded violently beneath his bones, beating in time with the organ resting behind his own breast. Alive, and full of power, full of emotions...

 _I love you,_ Quinn had said. Last night.

He wanted it to be real.

"...did I hurt you?"

Quinn's chest jerked as laughter exploded out. He smiled despite himself, worry unhinging from where it had lodged itself. "Fuck no, I feel so damned _perfect._ I could run a marathon when I get some energy back." He pawed blindly for Silas' hand, turned it over to twist their fingers together again. Silas watched him for any signs of pain, but Quinn only rolled himself to face him, and in the small bed, it put them flush together again. His expression softened a bit, his words going suddenly quiet and soft.

Like a secret. Or a prayer.

"You saved me," he murmured quietly, and those three words knotted in his throat, the sheer vulnerability behind them. Hearing it, seeing it, having that sort of power-- Silas couldn't breathe around the knowledge. "You saved me," he repeated, a little firmer but just as fervent, leaning forward to rest his forehead to his collar, press his nose in the hollow in soft affection.

He tried to remember how to think. He tried to remember what thinking _was._

"It didn't hurt," Quinn promised. He believed him. He honestly, truly did. "I'm tougher than you might think."

"You're not going to run a marathon, are you?" Silas' voice sounded faint even to his own ears. He tried not to think too terribly hard on the fact that it wavered even a little.

Quinn grinned against his skin. "I could."

"Please don't."

Quinn made an affirmative sound, and Silas let them lapse into silence for a moment. They just lay there, resting, tangled together. Then he tipped his head up, nose brushing at Silas' jaw for a minute, and he took that as cue to pull back and look at him. "Silas... what happens now?"

Now. Next. God, Silas couldn't even pull his brain together after what had just happened, how was he supposed to plan forward? But Quinn was asking him, requesting an answer, and his officer's training told him he had to have an answer at the ready, or find one on the quick. So what happened next...?

He breathed in the scent of him, let it cloy in his veins while he tried to plan ahead. In the immediacy, there was only himself and Quinn to worry about.

The after he could figure out once he had some more sleep, because there was no way at all that he could go back to running away from him. Plan B _hadn't_ worked, and he no longer wanted it to. He had tasted of the Forbidden Fruit, and he would never be able to go back to the way he had been before. It simply wouldn't be possible. But at the same time, they were to be soldiers, and worse, he was going to be an _officer._ It was the most grievous misuse of his station that there could be, and one of the biggest reasons he'd tried to avoid him in the first place.

There was also that if they were caught out, he could maybe bring it all down on his own head, but he would be the one with a black mark and a dishonorable discharge non-negotiable. There was no promise that he could save Quinn from the same.

He liked the military. He wanted to _stay._

He might end up having to leave it anyway, depending on what Carslile and his goons did within the next few days. Or the rest of Basic Training. Either way, they were going to have to be dealt with somehow. He couldn't let them go on like this, and he couldn't forgive them for what they had done to Quinn. There had to be justice somewhere.

He squeezed Quinn's fingers reassuringly. "Right now, I think I'm going to lay here a few more minutes with you, if you'll let me. Then when I'm done with that, I'll go ahead and get up so I can check your back. I don't want you to have pulled yourself open, but they're basically super sticky bandages. We have to be sure they're still secure, and fix them if they're not." Hmm... then what? "..then I think I might worship you some more. You deserve it, and I'd very much like to give it to you." Quinn smiled at him, soft, but backed by something else. There was a little bit of want in the expression, but it was nearly drowned by a warmer, less lust-filled thing that left his heart thudding even harder in his chest.

He thought he could get used to being watched that way. After all, they weren't in a hurry. They could take their time.

"That sounds _amazing."_ Quinn murmured quietly, leaning up and pressing their lips together. It was gentle, careful; full of words that he didn't say, and Silas kissed him back, letting it chase away his worries and soothe down his hackles.

He kissed him again, no tongue and no teeth, letting his mouth trail his jawbone, trace it back to the hollow beneath his ear. Hs lids slid shut in pleasure, physical and emotional both. It was nice to know that he was willing to let this continue, that he was going to permit Silas to have _today._ They may never get anything else. God, but he wanted it to last forever.

"But that's not what I meant." Quinn's voice shuddered, and he let go of Silas' fingers to wrap his arms around his torso, drawing himself close. He mirrored the motion, chest tight; couldn't Quinn just let him have this? Let him not think about _tomorrow?_

He took a deep breath, and he knew then that he _couldn't._ Silas bowed his head to hide his face in Quinn's shoulder. Why couldn't he? Why did he have to do this? Now, when everything was already perfect? “I… Silas… I understand if I’m not worth the risk… if having a relationship… I mean…”

 _I can't_ , he thought, desperately wishing he wouldn't even _ask._ He couldn't go back to being _without_ Quinn; he'd die of want if he tried, of heart ache, desire and loss and desperation. God, he wanted to keep him. He had already put his career in the hands of other men for him, breaking Butch's arm, fighting with Carslile-- what was fraternization on the list of sins?

Nothing. It was nothing. But if they did this, there was so very little that Silas could do to keep him safe. In fact, there was basically nothing they could do to ensure that.

Quinn would be a grunt. He'd go to the first posting that needed another soldier. Silas wouldn't be able to follow him.

The thought was terrifying. He couldn't stop _thinking_ it.

“I’m thankful for every minute that we have, and if it never goes further than this room… I want it to, _God,_ I want it to, I want you.”

He wanted it. Silas squeezed his eyes tighter and wished he didn't, just a little. He couldn't decide what he really wanted; if he wanted him to _not_ want him, so he didn't have to have this conversation, so he didn't have to struggle with the grief that would come from losing him. He couldn't decide if he wanted him to, like he did, this thing they both wanted and society and laws said they _couldn't have_...

“I love you.”

He thought his heart stopped beating. Certainly it seized in his chest, so tight and constricting he couldn't breathe. _Please don't,_ he thought, he didn't deserve it, he knew he didn't.

He didn't know if he was asking him not to say them, or asking him not to feel it, or asking him not to take them _back,_ because Quinn was tight as a board beneath his fingers.

“I love you, Silas…”

"You can't know that," he managed at length, the words pounding in his ears. _I love you_.

Quinn loved him.

Toby had loved him too. For six years. Until he hadn't anymore, and Silas wouldn't survive it twice, cradling the phone to his ear and hearing his sweetheart tell him, _this isn't working out, it's been a waste of time, I've found someone else._ He'd walk out in front of a red bullet and take it if Quinn cut him loose.

"You can't. You barely even know me."

 _I love you,_ Quinn said, and the idea of it hurt. He did, but oh how he _did._ And he _wanted_ for this to continue. He wasn’t sure why he was fighting it, besides the knee-jerk reaction of feared rebuke, the awareness of how terribly _bad_ this could go...

But Quinn did not take the words back.

Silas hugged him tighter. “You can’t get caught with me,” he decided at last. He wanted to say _yes, please, forever;_ he wanted to say, _if that ever changes.._ And he did not. All he could do was try to protect him. “If anything happens, you tell them I forced you. That I used my rank.”

If he lost his career.. he would live, somehow. The same could not be said if he lost Quinn.

“We _won’t_ get caught.” His voice was strong enough that it startled Silas somewhat, full of a passionate sort of certainty that had him opening his eyes, even as Quinn drew away from him, looked _up_ at him, and his eyes were a liquid blanket over an ocean of emotions, and they were so _vast,_ that ocean, Silas could get lost in their depths.

He couldn’t know what he said though. There was no way they could ensure that they _wouldn’t be,_ because this was the military and they had absolutely zero true privacy. But Quinn wasn’t done yet. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Silas believed him. Fuck. Why did he believe him? They couldn’t ensure that, it wasn’t _possible._

And yet, Quinn sounded so sure. He believed it, and Quinn’s certainty made _him_ believe it.

He swallowed, his own smile watery. It was.. really sweet, that Quinn was so emphatic about it. That he seemed willing to fight, regardless of the cost that it would take to make it happen. Consorting with mortals was what had caused the Gregori to be cast from Heaven… “Careful. Your confidence could be infectious.” He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, feeling their hearts beat in tandem; fast and hard, loud in his ears as they pounded a tempo. Did Quinn really think that he could… that _they_ could.. do this? That they could survive it?

...hadn’t he already promised a later, full of worship and roses? That couldn’t happen in the military-- too much risk of getting caught. But _after,_ if they lived.. maybe..

Quinn blinked, his eyes clearing, and Silas had the impression he might be smiling, slow, sly, _teasing.._ “Good.” He spoke quiet, parting a secret against his lips, and Silas could hear all the things the words did not say. Promises for today and tomorrow, stretching far out into the ether, into _maybe._ Worries for the same. Quinn knew how desperate of an idea it was; Silas could not believe he did not. “Let me _infect_ you with it.”

It was a terrible plan, honestly. It wasn’t even _a_ plan. So much could go wrong. Either one of them could die the moment graduation hit. Carslile and his cohort could turn them in. Base command could catch them.

Silas let him cup his jaw and pull him in to a kiss that could have melted stone.

He kissed him back. Careful, a little daring, letting Quinn lead him along. Letting Quinn feed him the strength to survive, the surety that they could.

If he were following Quinn into this particular battle, he certainly thought that they _could._


End file.
